


Salvation

by humorous



Series: The Haven Duology [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, ca:cw au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-03-02 04:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18803923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humorous/pseuds/humorous
Summary: In which Elda Reid fights to find her way back to her salvation. With the help of an unexpected friend, of course.





	1. Wasteful

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: If you have NOT read 'Haven,' go now! This story will not make sense if you haven't read it. Also, if you haven't read 'Heartless,' go read that, as well! Some of the things will be a little confusing in this if you don't get some background on Asset 53!

_What a waste_ _of a birthday,_ I mused as I sucked a long swig of vodka from a tall bottle I'd managed to buy from the nearest Walmart. It was a large bottle, sure, but when I had tasted it, I was shocked that it had passed the test to be sold on store shelves. I scrunched my face as it washed down my throat, gasping as the burning sensation faded away. "Mother _fucker_ , that's strong," I croaked.

It was times like these that I wished I'd never gotten involved in things I didn't understand. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be living out of my truck, finding mangy and cheap motels to crash in when I couldn't keep my eyes open. I would probably still be working a normal part-time job at my local grocery store, caring for my garden and binge-watching whichever shows I wanted to. If I hadn't fucked up so badly, maybe things would be normal.

But of course,  _normal_ was just the thing that made my life...well, boring as all hell. I had convinced myself that having a routine would be good for me, but all it gave me was a headache and too much repetition. I needed variation, I needed the thrill of no expectations. That's what Bucky brought me, in both good ways and bad.

The mouth of the bottle touched my lips again and I forced another mouthful of the foul drink down my throat. Coughing, I covered my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut, setting the bottle down on the floor beside me. My head tipped back and rested on the bed I was sitting up against, looking up at the ceiling. Cracks and fissures had appeared throughout the years, wearing through the building's infrastructure and leading it closer and closer to destruction.

"There's nothing like the possibility of a roof caving in on you to really brighten your birthday," I muttered to myself.

My fingers stretched out on the floor, curling around the thick, 1970s style carpet. Every two feet was a different colored square of carpet, whether it was red, lime green, mustard yellow, or speckled royal blue. It was initially hard to look at, overwhelming my senses, but after the third night of staring at the oddly painted walls and basically being transported back into the seventies, the outdated decor had started to grow on me. It was charming, the way places like this were able to keep original furniture and carpeting, acting as your own personal time machine for however long you stayed here.

Of course, I would give it a better rating on Yelp if the telephones were  _from this century._  Even a Blackberry would help.

It's not like I had anyone to call, though.

Ever since Bucky was taken, I've been driving. Where? No fuckin' idea. Every morning, I'll just get in the truck and start the engine, driving someplace new until I'm so tired that I've almost forgotten that I can't drive with my eyes closed. Luckily, I opened them soon enough to avoid a major collision. I could have died. After that, I began pulling over and taking naps on the side of the country roads, or if I couldn't find a good spot, I caved and bought a room at a motel for a night or two.

Tonight was that kind of night. And some sick part of me, the old Elda Reid, wanted to celebrate my birthday while in one place. Even if it was a crappy motel that was strangely obsessed with 1970s decorum. 

I spotted a computer in the corner of the room, the one perk of this less-than-satisfactory temporary home. It wasn't as old as everything else surrounding me; it had to be closer to ten years old instead of thirty. Luckily for me, having a computer in a motel room meant unlimited access to the internet. Well, just the stuff I paid for. At least I had some connection to the outside world.

Standing the bottle of vodka on the desk, I tried to gracefully swing myself into the desk chair but only proceeded in tripping over my own feet and stubbing my toe on the wooden desk. A string of curses flew from my mouth in my drunken stupor. "Damn you, you delicious poison," I pointed a finger at the bottle, screwing up my face in an attempt to focus on just one of the floating bottles in my vision instead of all seven. 

Finally finding my way down to the seat, I stared at the computer. For only a moment, I forgot what I'd planned to do once I moved those last four feet from the floor. Then I remembered, pushing a button on the monitor to make it turn on, waiting for the computer to power up. In what felt like fifteen minutes but was realistically only five, I was clicking through numerous tabs that showed me news stories about...well, my dilemma. 

_Woman, 26, Hides Centurian In Her Home For Money_

"Okay,  _PopSugar_ ," I scowled. Even in my drunk state, I knew seventy-five percent of these headlines were complete bullshit. "You don't even cover this kind of news. Get in your lane."

_The Winter Soldier Is Missing Again. How Long Until The CIA Takes Him Down?_

_God's Righteous Man Is Now The CIA's Most Wanted Man_

_A Timeline of The Avengers' Rise--And Fall (Don't Worry, It's Short)_

"That's a low blow,  _New York Times_ ," I slurred. It was disheartening to see so many slandering headlines talking about things they didn't know. That was the whole purpose of being a reporter, but it was just... _rude_  how wrong they were. 

Gravel crunched outside my window, and if I were any less drunk, maybe I would have tensed up, drawn the curtains and hid inside this room for the next week. But I just lifted the bottle and held it up, making a solitary toast on my birthday. 

"Here's to many more nights like these," I vowed, "'cause I'm sure there'll be plenty more." I tipped the bottle to my lips and downed a large sip, letting it burn on the way down. Then I opened my eyes, cracked a cruel smirk at the computer screen, and calmly let out a, "Fuck you," to the false news stories listed before my eyes. 

A rough knock on the door lifted my head from the computer. I hit the button on the monitor again to make the screen go black, standing up and walking toward the door. I fumbled for a second, trying to find out where to put my bottle of vodka, but then I figured it wasn't illegal to drink in a motel.  _Right?_

The knock sounded again when I didn't answer it. Reaching for the knob, I opened it and...

He was tired. I could tell from the way his shoulders slumped, the way his hat hung loosely on his big fingers, exposing his balding head of gray, wispy hair. He looked down the hall, as if bored and wishing he were anywhere else. He reached into his uniform's pocket and pulled out a picture. 

"My name is Officer James Turner," he spoke in a gruff voice, years of service rumbling through his tone. "Have you seen this woman?"

I blinked a few times to focus in on the picture he was holding in front of me.  _I know that street_ , I thought to myself as I saw the street that I worked on, the one that held the grocery store I worked at. There was a woman in the picture, just like he said. Walking to her pickup truck that looked like it had gone through the ringer...then I zeroed in on her face. The eyes, the line of her mouth. The eyebrows. The hair. Her stance.

 _That's me_. I looked up slowly at the man who was still looking down the hallway, his breathing bringing his chest heaving up and down. 

"Uh..." I spoke, flabbergasted.  _How did they find me?_

He jerked his head to face me. His eyes widened in disbelief, his jaw slackening from his gray upper lip. "Holy shit," he grunted as he recognized me. The perfect match to the picture. 

The alcohol shoved its way out of my system. Right onto the officer's shiny black shoes.


	2. Handcuffed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy the second chapter of salvation!

The cuffs duginto my wrists as I was jostled around in the back of the police car, my seat right on top of the wheel well.  _Lucky me_ , I rolled my eyes internally. Blowing a strand of hair out of my face, I caught a whiff of my post-vomit breath and fought the urge to throw up. Again. I mean, I did the whole thing. I gagged profusely, wishing I could cover my mouth with my hand; I made a retching noise that I'd previously thought was only heard in movies, and I squeezed my eyes shut until I could breathe properly again.

"Stop making a fuss back there," the officer chided, his eyes flitting between me and the road. Even in the rear view mirror, I could see his eyes squinting at me. Judging me. "We're almost there."

For a moment I considered replying with a scathing retort, but then I thought better of it. I'd rather not get in more trouble than I was. I had a bad enough headache on the horizon for me, I shouldn't make it worse by adding a lecture by a police officer into my schedule for my birthday.

It's my birthday. I'd practically forgotten due to the less-than-responsible choices I'd made lately. One of those being the absolutely brilliant idea of getting involved in something I didn't understand, even though I thought I had it all covered. But of course, I wouldn't be Elda Reid if I didn't make a questionable decision once in awhile.

The squad car stopped a few minutes later, the loud engine finally silenced. I swallowed roughly, ignoring the bile that rose to my throat from the action. I was fucked. I knew that much. Hopefully I'd be able to talk my way out of this, whatever these guys wanted.

My door was opened and Officer Turner reached in with a thick hand and grabbed my arm, dragging me out of the car and onto my feet, standing on the pavement. "Don't fight it," he advised me in his deep, rasping voice. "It'll only make this worse."

 _Make what worse?_ My head swam, trying to juggle the alcohol and the completely sober thoughts rushing through my brain.  _How could this night get any worse? I'm turning twenty-seven at the police station in a town I can't even remember the name of._

Either way, I nodded swiftly and stumbled to the front door of the station, relying on Turner to help me, as I could hardly walk in a straight line with all the vodka in my system. I ignored all the stares I got from the on-duty men and women, some of them stopping in the middle of their sentences to get a look at me. Again, I considered snarling at them or saying something witty, but I reminded myself just how I'd landed here.

And how much I wanted to walk right out that door.

I was led into a room in the back of the station, stone cold walls with a stone cold door and a metal table with two metal chairs, one on each side. An interrogation room.

"Hey, it's just like  _Law and Order_ ," I blurted, the alcohol getting a hold on my tongue and slurring the syllables. "You guys don't happen to have Olivia Benson on duty, do you? She's a badass."

Turner, kindly but firmly, pushed me into the chair and fiddled with the key ring on his belt, unlocking the handcuffs behind my back. Hissing as I stretched out my wrists, I barely felt the blood return to my hands before he snatched them again, this time locking me into a new set of cuffs that were attached to the table.

I groaned, holding up my shackled wrists. "Aw, come on, Officer, I'll be nice!" When he sat down in front of me and cocked an eyebrow, I let my hands drop to the table. "Fine," I grumbled.

"Are you fit to answer questions?" He asked, eyeing me up. Despite the niceties, I could tell he knew the answer already.

Chuckling, I mumbled out my answer. "More fit than you," I chortled. "I work out at least twice a week."

He glared at me, then stood up and rapped on the door. "Hey, can we get some coffee in here?"

Obviously he wasn't amused by my drunk, talkative self. I turned to look back at my hands and clenched them into fists, then stretched my fingers, and over and over again until the door opened, a steaming hot cup of coffee being placed in front of me. Given my current state of being handcuffed, I had to lean down to connect my lips to the brim of the cup, slurping up as much of the dark liquid as I could in one go.

Turner just stared at me as I drank, waiting until it was completely empty to open his mouth. "Please state your full name."

I swallowed the last of the coffee, wincing at the last bitter taste, and replied. "Elda Reid."

He wrote down my answer, clicking his tongue. "No middle name?"

"Nope," I answered swiftly. "They didn't care enough to give me one of those."

I watched as he nodded, collected his thoughts, and then looked up at me, meeting my eyes. "Where are you from, Elda? Where do you live?"

"I prefer not to give out my address to strangers." His eyes darkened again and I quickly dropped the act. "Sorry. I live in Northern Wisconsin, in my parents' house."

Officer Turner tilted his head. "You live with your parents?"

Scowling, I retorted, "It's their house, but I don't live  _with_ them. They moved to Arizona six years ago."

He nodded as if to say he understood. "Okay. How long were you on the road?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, a few months?"

"And how long were you staying at the motel we picked you up at?"

Furrowing my eyebrows, I lifted my eyes from the table's surface to stare at the officer. "Can't you figure these things out for yourself?"

"Just answer the questions, Miss Reid—"

I smacked my hands on the table, rolling my eyes. "Look, are you gonna start asking the good questions, or are we gonna sit here for hours and shoot the shit before you actually interrogate me with a purpose?"

He was about to respond when the door opened and another middle-aged man walked in, his gray hair cropped short and his gray suit giving him the air of confidence and superiority. "We'll take it from here, Sergeant Turner," he said, not once looking at him, but instead locking eyes with me.

A pit grew in my stomach as I saw a flashing image of my brother. "What the fuck are you doing here," I growled.

Everett Ross merely blinked. Upon seeing my handcuffs, he ordered them unlocked. "She's not a criminal," he said. Once the cuffs were off and the door was closed, leaving us alone, he sat down. "We've been looking for you, Elda."

"Yeah, no shit," I retorted, ignoring any moral thought. "I kept Bucky Barnes out of your hands, and now you lost him.  _Again_."

He just folded his hands in front of him and sat back in the chair comfortably. He was waiting for me to calm down, it was clear.

I took a deep breath. "Is this being recorded?"

Ross cocked an eyebrow, just like Turner did earlier. "Should it be?"

Deciding I didn't give a shit whether it was or not, I pressed further. "Where's Steve? I know you have him."

He took a little bit to answer, but eventually nodded. "Yes, Steve Rogers is in our custody. He was taken in a few months ago." Upon seeing the daggers in my eyes at this news, he cleared his throat, looked down at his lap and adjusted himself in his seat. "He's been through this before, Elda. We just want to keep the world safe from all its threats. We're doing the best we can."

I wouldn't have been surprised if the chair and table began to melt under the pure fire and fury that was coursing through my veins. "Yeah," I snapped, "at any cost, right?"

He knitted his brows. Not much, but just enough to see that I'd said something he didn't expect. "Excuse me?"

My voice was eerily calm as I looked at the man that killed my brother and spoke the words I'd been holding in. "You want to keep the world safe at any and all costs. You don't care how many lives it ruins in your wake."

Ross paused for a moment, not sure what to say to that. Rather abruptly, he stood up and knocked on the door. When it opened, he spoke a few short words to the officer on watch that were too soft for me to hear. He turned on his heel to look back at me, and pursed his lips in a tight grimace. "Get up," he said brusquely, "we're going for a ride."

Oh, I was fucked. Totally and completely fucked.


	3. In Deep Shit

"We're going fora  _ride?_ " My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What is that, some weird CIA code for you're taking me to a cold cell that's meant to hold serial killers?" 

Ross didn't miss a moment. "Yes, that's exactly what it means." He waited for me to roll my eyes before continuing. "There are more questions for you to answer, Elda. But it can't be done in a small town police station." He ducked his head outside to hiss a few more sharp words to the officer and then stepped back as the door swung open. He jerked his head to the doorway, signaling for me to walk out of the room. 

Standing up, I blinked furiously for a few seconds as my vision clouded into black from the self-induced hangover that would begin to form within the next few hours. "I'm a piece of shit," I grumbled as I stalked out of the room. "I can't even hold my alcohol. When did that happen?"

The CIA operative simply followed me out of the room and ushered me back into the parking lot, nodding at Officer Turner, whose lips tightened as he saw me stumble past. "Good luck, sir," he said to Ross. "I hope you find him."

Despite the alcohol in my body, I recognized the indirect jab at Bucky and clenched my fists. "They'll never find him," I snarled at Turner, turning my head to look at Ross immediately after. "You'll never find him," I repeated at the higher authority. 

Everett Ross, ever the professional, remained stoic. But when he leaned in to whisper in my ear, his words chilled me to the bone. "Given the unknown situation he's in right now, you'd better hope we do, Miss Reid."

I met his eyes, eyebrows furrowed and hands twitching in both anger and confusion. Shaking my head, I walked out of the station and approached his vehicle, a tall black SUV that was perfect for the CIA. Powerful and commanding, it was a vessel that would make you look over your shoulder warily. 

"Get in," he told me firmly. "We're going to be late."

"Oh, we're on a  _schedule_ now?" I rolled my eyes. "What about my stuff at the motel?"

Ross opened the back door of the SUV for me, eyes reflecting in the moonlight. "Someone's picking it up for you as we speak." I still didn't move, so he tried to offer me a reassuring smile. "Elda, I've known your family for years. I'm not going to hurt you. Just get in the car."

I supposed there was no other choice but to obey him, so I clambered up and into the sleek, albeit bulky car. "Too late," I mumbled, wringing my hands together in my lap. Luckily, it seemed he didn't hear me.

The car started, and soon afterward, we were on the interstate, heading to wherever they were taking me. I had no clue how long the drive would be, so I slouched in my seat and tried to get as comfortable as I could, choosing to rest as well as I could with Ross occupying the seat next to me. I'd just closed my eyes when he spoke up.

"I know you disagree with our methods, Elda," he started. He paused, then, as if holding his breath. 

Letting out a puff of air, I answered begrudgingly, "You could say that."

After peering at me in the dark car, he continued. "I want you to know that what happened to your brother was beyond our control. It was a mission gone wrong, and none of them were prepared for it to go awry. It could have been any one of those agents that died that day. It just turned out to be Cade."

" _Don't_ say his name," I hissed, venom lashing out from my words. "You could have trained them harder, prepared them for any possible scenario. You could have  _saved my brother_." I didn't have the heart to look at him, so I chose to stare out the window, trying to ignore Ross's absolutely infuriating presence beside me. 

He didn't say anything for awhile after that. I don't think he knew quite how to respond. 

Time seemed to stop in the car. There would be no new information that was of any use to me, so I had no choice but wait. As the hours blended together and night gave way to sunrise, I found myself finally able to give in to an uneasy nap, waiting for the moment that the car would stop and time would start again.

* * *

 

"We're here," a muffled voice stirred me from the silence of my mind. "Let's go."

I forced my eyes to open and was met with the bright morning light. Squinting, I waited for my vision to adjust before I sat up straight, opening the car door and stepping down to the pavement. "Where exactly is  _here_?" I asked, my voice scratchy with sleep. A dull headache made me scrunch my face for a second, getting used to the slight throbbing before opening my eyes again and listening for any hint as to where I'd landed. 

Of course, I was in no position to be asking questions, so I wasn't surprised when I was ignored. Surrounded by a few other CIA agents, Ross and I walked into the tall and widespread building in front of us. Its walls were beautifully clear glass, rising up, giving off a striking and intimidating air to the smaller buildings surrounding it. I tilted my head up to read a grand sign that announced the building's name, my jaw slackening in shock. 

 _George Bush Center for Intelligence_. Oh, I was in deep shit. But that seemed to be how my days were going for me now. 

Walking inside, I just tried to take it all in. I couldn't describe the sheer power of it all, even if I tried. It was incredible, and yet I was here because I'd spent a year hiding the world's most wanted fugitive in my house. 

With a start, I remembered who was supposed to be here. "Steve," I blurted, turning to Ross, "is Steve here?" I probably looked pitiful, my eyes wide, desperation dripping from my lips.

He blinked, cleared his throat, and then answered. "Yes, he's here." He gestured to one of his associates before adding, "But that's not the reason  _you're_  here. He's dealing with the consequences of his actions. For real, this time."

Though I didn't get to know him well, I scowled at the way those words sounded. "He's Captain fucking America," I said incredulously, "and now he's a prisoner?"

He was distracted, looking down the corridor as he answered smoothly, "That's just how the world works sometimes, Elda." His face lit up and he stretched his lips in a smile as he found what he was looking for. I followed his gaze down the hallway, my eyes landing on a man and woman whose arms spread as they recognized me.

"Oh, fuck  _me_ ," I groaned, nearly crumpling to the floor right then and there.

Ross shot me a confused look. "Yeah, they didn't think you'd say  _that_."

"What are  _they_ doing here?" I growled, my lips curled in a disgusted sneer as I looked at my parents.

Beside me, Ross shifted uncomfortably. "They're here to help."

Rolling my eyes, I tried to keep my cruel words to myself but in the end, I couldn't help it. " _Help?_ They're the ones that fucked it all up!"

Okay, that's not completely true. But it feels good to say it anyway. 

"Elda, we've been worried sick about you!" My father's voice rang clear in the open space, his gray hair glinting in the bright lights on the ceiling. "Where have you been?" He went in for a hug, but thankfully Ross held up a hand to stop him.

"We'll talk about all of that in a moment," he said. "There's a room on an upper level that we'll have to ourselves and we can talk about everything that you all know." He gave me a pointed look that clearly said,  _you'd better talk, too._  Looks like I wouldn't be able to stay quiet through any of this.

My mom stepped closer and lifted her arms to embrace me, but I swatted her hands away and took a step back. I was certain my eyes were shooting daggers at her, and I relished in the way her face fell, hurt by the fact that I was treating her with such disrespect.

Oh well. They treated me like shit for my entire life. It's about time I start treating them like shit, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!


	4. Let Me Go

It was nosecret that I was pissed off. My eyes were locked in a death glare at the backs of my parents' heads as they followed Ross to the nearest elevator that would take us up to the next floor and to this empty room he was talking about. My hands shook as I walked behind them, forcing me to stuff them in my pockets in order to steady them. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear the hatred from their depths, but I was rather unsuccessful as I opened them again and couldn't help but furrow my eyebrows in disgust.  _Oh well_ , I thought, sighing inwardly.

I mean, I was  _pissed._ It was a real accomplishment when I made it to the room without screaming out in frustration. Now, without all those oblivious people staring at me, I felt the crease in my forehead go down a bit.

But then my dad gave me that  _look_ , that look of complete and utter pity, and the line in my forehead returned, even deeper than before.

"What?" I snapped.

He stared at me for a second before shrugging nonchalantly and turning away from me. "Nothing," he mumbled softly, though his eyes held a different story, one that told me he had much more than  _nothing_ on his mind.

Lifting my head, I looked around the long and narrow room we'd entered. It was completely empty save for a sleek wooden table about as long as the room, with at least a dozen wheeled chairs lining the edges. The far wall was all glass, peering out over the spotless landscaping of the surrounding greenery of the CIA's headquarters.

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught my attention. Ross splayed out his hands in front of him, gesturing to the chairs. "Please, take a seat," he said, "this might take a while." Somewhere along the way up here he'd grabbed a pen and paper, to write down whatever we told him, presumably. He sat down first, opening the notebook to the first empty page and began to scribble down notes.

All three of us remained standing. My parents were probably too worried that they'd be in trouble to sit down. This was Everett Ross, the man who'd personally recruited their son into the CIA. They probably thought that to get in trouble with this man meant raining down hellfire. Besides, they were the type of people to save their own hides before thinking about anyone else's even if it happened to be their own child's. As for me, I refused to sit because I had a feeling that I knew how this would go. I wasn't sure I could trust my head and mouth to say the things that would get me out of here the fastest. I was in for a long ride, I knew that much for sure.

When he saw that we didn't follow suit, Ross patted a hand on the table, a subtle yet commanding action that caused my parents to give in. "You know, this will go a lot easier if you cooperate, Elda," he warned me, raising an eyebrow. "Sit down, or I'll have someone come in and  _make_ you sit down."

I may have been a dumbass, but I wasn't  _stupid_. I knew when I wasn't going to win. So I took a seat beside my mom. She didn't look at me, so I didn't look at her. I was focused on the task at hand. I just wanted to get out of here so I could go back to...whatever I was doing before this.

Ross looked down at his hands before starting with the first question. "Mrs. Reid, I think it's been a few years since I've last seen you here, hasn't it?"

My mother nodded slowly, clasping her hands together on the table and leaning into my dad's presence. "Yes," she said, her voice wavering. "It was right after Cade died." She inhaled a shaky breath before looking up at the man sitting across from her. "You showed us his final reports."

"You did  _what_?" I blurted incredulously. "Isn't that, like, against your super secret spy rules?" With my hands clenched between my thighs, I squeezed my legs together to steady my voice.

His eyes darted to the corner of the room before landing back on me. A nervous habit, I supposed. "Elda, it's protocol to inform the parents of every agent that loses their life in service. The only reason you weren't there was because you were still young and your parents didn't feel you were ready to see them—"

Raising my eyebrows in mock surprise, I stiffly turned my head to look at my mom, who looked down, biting her nails. "They  _didn't_ , did they?" I bit out the words. "When exactly were you planning on showing me these files,  _Mommy dearest?_ "

She didn't respond. Good.

I searched Ross's eyes and sharply demanded, "I want to see them."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before swallowing roughly and answering in a rather soft voice, "That can be arranged. For some other day at some other time, however. Today's meeting is for sorting out everything that you three know about Sam Wilson, James Barnes, and the people who took him."

The mention of Bucky and Sam nearly masked my anger at my parents, but there was just barely enough space for me to recognize the uncertainty in Ross's voice. He wasn't planning on showing me my brother's files anytime soon. Most likely not at all.

My heart sank as I realized this, feeling the last clutches that I had of my brother slipping away. To feel the elation of finding out there was more to my brother after he died and then to have that hope torn away...it was more cruel than I thought it would be.

Refusing to let them see me this way, though, I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms after brushing my wild hair out of my eyes. "Fine," I conceded, "what do you want to know?"

Surprisingly, Ross chose to start with my parents' side of the story. "When did you first come into contact with Barnes?" He began, pen held at the ready.

My father answered this one quickly, replying, "Oh, about a year ago, it was...a few days after our anniversary. We'd gone to surprise Elda for the weekend, and everything was going well until my wife walked into our son's bedroom—" his mouth curled down in revulsion as he continued— "to find him changing. He'd been living there for a few months by the time we met him."

The CIA agent wrote furiously. "And you didn't find anything unusual about this?"

This time, Mom decided to defend her honor. "I always knew there was something suspicious about him," she replied, her smooth words sharp with ice.

I rolled my eyes, scoffing loudly. "Oh, bull _shit_. You ate up that story easier than a kid eats their first piece of Halloween candy." Grinning at the fond memory, I added, "You were so happy that I was supposedly dating someone that you didn't even question the fact that he looked exactly like the world's most wanted fugitive."

"Elda, come on. We didn't think you'd be capable of hiding someone so dangerous in your— _our_ —house all this time, you have to understand that. You've always been our little Elda, our rule follower." My dad leaned forward in an attempt to meet my eyes, but I refused to look at him.

"I have no idea where you got that idea from," I retorted, "I seem to remember your precious  _Cade_ being the perfect child. You always preferred him over me, didn't you?"

Ross tried to step in. "Okay, let's stay on track—"

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Elda," Mom scoffed, "you can't blame your brother's successes for your failures." She sucked in a deep breath, releasing it and all the tension in her face. "We always wanted the best for you, but it was hard to help you achieve your highest potential when you insisted on getting yourself involved in things like  _this_ , that land you in places like  _this_ , that put the rest of your life in jeopardy like  _this_ , all because a handsome man charmed you."

I bit my lip so hard I thought it might have drawn blood. "Mom, we've been over this."

She nodded. "Yes, and we need to go over it again, because frankly, I don't  _understand_ —"

Slamming my hands on the table, I groaned in exasperation. " _What_? What don't you understand? That I did this for Sam? A friend that has always been there for me, despite all the bullshit you've put me through all these years?"

Dad made an attempt to put his two-sense into the heated conversation. "Elda, I don't think you're hearing us—"

I chuckled, but the sound lacked all amusement. "Oh, I hear you loud and fuckingclear. You're so  _suffocating_ all the time! I'm twenty-seven fucking years old, and I can't get away from my own parents for one second without them tearing me down."

"Okay," Ross held up a hand, "this isn't productive—"

"Fuck off, Ross," I lashed out, my words cutting deep as I watched him sink back into his chair.

My mom took a deep breath. "We'll talk about this later," she decided, her tone ringing with finality. Looking back at Ross, she tried to offer a smile, though it was shaking. "Please," she said, "continue."

I shook my head in disbelief. We never "talked about it later." We just ignored the tension and let it build until it was impossible to keep inside anymore. We were trapped in a loop, and I didn't see a way out of it.

For the next hour, I sat there, answering any and all questions Ross had about my experience with Bucky. Of course, I didn't tell him about the nightmares, or the kisses we shared. Those things were private. I didn't care how much he thought he needed to know. I was keeping those moments to myself.

As he tried to dig deeper and deeper into the time Bucky spent with me, getting closer to the dreaded day that he was taken from me and Sam ran from it all, I felt the pit in my stomach growing larger. Suddenly it became harder to breath, harder to swallow the tears down.

"Do you have any idea where this group of rogues would have taken him? And idea who they are?"

The angry tears finally spilled over, digging caverns in my cheeks as they trailed their way down my face. "No," I insisted, my voice cracking. "I have no  _clue_. If I did, I would tell you." That was only half of a lie. "I just want him to be safe, okay? I know it sounds crazy, I know that I have no way of proving this, but I just...I have a gut feeling that he's in danger. Wherever he is, he's not safe." I inhaled sharply, my breath hitching as my mind flashed an image of the beautiful, beautiful man on the backs of my eyelids.

"That's why we're doing all we can to bring him to justice, Elda," Ross reassured me. He reached out a hand to hold mine in a comforting embrace, but I moved it before he could touch me.

"No, you don't understand," I choked on a sob, "he's not who you think. He's  _innocent._  All those things you think he did, he only did them because Hydra forced him to. They fucked with his mind all those years ago, and he's been changed ever since. You can't kill him for things he did with a mind empty of all reason." Pressing the heels of my hands against my eye sockets, I reveled in the darkness it provided. " _It's not his fault._

"Look, the only reason I was driving around the country, the only reason you found me in that scrappy motel room was because I wanted to get away from it all." I curled in on myself and felt a fresh wave of tears overcome my senses, making my breaths choppy and ragged. "I had to get away from that place. Where I met him, and where I lost him. I couldn't do it anymore. I can't do it anymore," I whispered, trailing off as my sobs took over my body, racking my chest.

Though I was telling them half-truths, I let my mind succumb to the very real tears I was shedding. My parents merely sat there awkwardly, unsure of how to deal with their daughter who obviously didn't want anything to do with them, but was clearly in an insurmountable amount of pain. The room fell silent for a minute, the only sounds being my shaking, silent sobs.

When Everett Ross broke the silence, his voice was genuine and gentle. "Elda," he prompted, waiting for me to look up at him. Once I did, he continued, "Do you want to leave?"

My eyes widened in hope, and I nodded. "More than anything."

He waited for a second, evaluating me. "Very well," he answered soon after, "I've asked you all I can. You're free to go. Back to that motel, if you'd like."

It was an attempt at lightening the mood, but I was too far in the throes of grief that I couldn't bear to let even a sad laugh at his expense. "Thank you, sir," I sniffled. Standing up, I prepared to leave. Despite my breakdown, I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, look at how distraught she is," my father spoke up.

Ross shook his head. "I'll have someone escort her to wherever she chooses to spend the next few days, weeks, months, whatever. She'll be safe." He paused, narrowing his eyes. Then, "All due respect, but I think your daughter will heal better if she is left alone."

Nodding gratefully, I trudged out of the door, heading for the elevator. Before stepping into it, another agent—my escort, I supposed—held the door open for himself.

"I'm to escort you back to—are you okay?" The new stranger asked, peering at my tear stained cheeks.

I ran a hand over my face, doing my best to look calm. "I'm fine," I mumbled.

The elevator door closed, and I had to do my best not to let a successful grin grace my lips despite the sharp knife of loss that was currently twisting itself in my gut.

With any luck, I'd be left alone within the next week. Once they saw that I wasn't going anywhere and I truly wanted to wallow in self pity and the good old memories of Bucky Barnes, they'd retreat back to their headquarters and never give me a second glance. Then I'd be free to go on my hunt for the bastards that took Bucky.

I'd fooled them all.


	5. A New Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter introduces another major character that is of my own creation, and i'll explain their backstory as the book goes along, hopefully it's not super confusing!

"You know, I'm fine, really," I insisted as I was followed by the CIA agent who was  _assigned_  to me, whatever that meant. "I appreciate everything you guys have done for me, seriously. But I just want to lay down and take a nap, okay? I've been up for, like,  _forever_  and now I'm in desperate need of sleep, so will you just let me do my thing?" I turned around and crossed my arms, scrutinizing the agent. "Or are you gonna watch me change, too?"

After getting into another CIA-approved vehicle(this one much smaller and sleeker), I'd been driven to a hotel that—I'm going to be honest—I'd originally thought was a resort, or something. I mean, the entire front of the building was covered in elegant stone that gave it an old-fashioned, European-style architecture vibe. If I was at all interested in history, I'm sure I would have gotten down on my knees and prayed for more beautiful things like this to grace my eyes.

But let's be real, I couldn't tell the difference between the Age of Enlightenment and the invention of the light bulb. Aren't they the same thing?

I'd expected him to be uncomfortable by my suggestion, but the man in shades standing in front of me merely clasped his hands in front of him. "Miss Reid, I am under strict instruction to make sure you get to your hotel, and remain there for the next week."

"Oh," I nodded, rolling my eyes, "so it's not a stalker thing, it's more of a quarantine thing.  _Great_." I glanced back at the beautiful building behind me and grimaced. "I can't believe you're making me pay for this. Isn't that kind of...rude?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "You are a very important person to the Agency at this time. Agent Ross specifically asked that you stay in this hotel, so as to be in reach if you are needed." He said it all with his smooth, commanding tone that sounded close to a practiced performance.

I swallowed roughly and closed my eyes, images of money burning flashing brightly in my mind.  _Oh, fucking hell_. "You know that makes me sound like I'm a pawn in a game you're playing, right?"

For a second, I thought I'd won when he didn't say anything. He reached up to pull his shades off of his face and peered down at me with his towering frame and piercing eyes. "Miss Reid. If you would please..." Holding up a hand and gesturing towards the front door of the hotel, he waited for me to give in and enter the expensive place that I would, apparently, be calling home for the next week.

Grumbling, I did as he asked and went through every step of getting a room, wincing as I swiped my card.  _I'm gonna be in debt for years,_ I groaned inwardly.  _Forget student loans, I'm gonna be paying off this hotel in tiny increments each month._

After the process was complete and I was handed the key to my room(an  _actual_ key, mind you), I headed towards the elevator, pausing for a moment to eye the agent that stood behind me. His hair was probably dark brown at some point in his life, but as he'd aged, gray started to speckle throughout his sparsely covered scalp. He was still a relatively handsome man, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

He met my eyes, catching me. "Yes?"

I shrugged. "You have a name or something?"

The agent chuckled. "Agent Wretton," he answered, though his name rolled off his tongue roughly, like he didn't have enough practice telling it.

"Huh," I smirked as the elevator doors opened. "So do people call you 'Red?'"

He looked insulted. "No, my name is  _Wret—_ "

"Relax, I'm only joking." I swallowed a grin. " _Red._ "

My bags and minimal belongings were retrieved from the quaint motel I was staying in, just as Ross had promised. In the middle of all this expensive decor, I was thankful to have my ratty clothes to make it look a little more like home.

 _Home_. Just another thing I didn't have anymore. It wasn't that I missed my house; it's just a reminder of everything now. It was more that I missed belonging to something, somewhere, some _one_. I missed having a safe place, whatever or whomever that happened to be.

In simple terms, I missed Bucky.

The next few days went by slowly, filled with nothing more than a late night swim in the clear pool outside, or a walk down the street. Of course, I was always followed, always cornered by Agent Wretton and his intimidating stature, seeming as though he never changed out of his suit and tie.

"Seriously,  _this_ again?" I asked in exasperation when I'd finally had enough. I'd hardly made it out of the hotel and down the street when I whirled around, glaring at him. "I'm fine. It's a little suspicious to have someone from the CIA following me around, don't you think?"

Wretton blinked, and then spoke in that god awful tone of his. "Miss Reid, I've been assigned to keep you safe—"

"Yeah, you're keeping an  _eye on me_ ," I rolled my eyes. "You're just here to make sure I don't go anywhere."

He didn't reply after that. Eventually he lifted his eyes to meet mine. "Look," he started, his voice low, "There's a reason we didn't broadcast your name over all the news stations for those few months we were looking for you." I shifted uncomfortably as I realized this was true. "You hadn't done anything worth putting on a manhunt for. But that doesn't give you the freedom to do whatever you want now. You need to remain on the low for a while." He cleared his throat, pursing his lips. "Just until we get this whole situation cleared up."

I sneered. "Cleared up? Come on, Red." He cocked an eyebrow at the nickname, still irked that I wouldn't let it go. "You and I both know that the only way you'll accept the  _ending_ to this is with Bucky locked in a cell somewhere."

He stayed silent. Then, "You can disagree with me as often as you please, Miss Reid. But it won't stop me from keeping you under strict supervision."

I grunted. "You sound like my mother." I puffed out a breath of air and crossed my arms. "Alright, Red."

"My name is  _not—_ "

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I smirked. "You can hate the nickname as much as you want, but it won't stop me from using it," I mocked him, watching his lips curl down in a tight frown. "If you're following me around, why don't we go to a bar together? Get to know each other?"

Agent Wretton shook his head. "Miss Reid, I don't drink on duty."

I shrugged. "Just as well. But if you're not drinking, then you're not allowed inside. It's basic bar and pub etiquette." I held up my hands as if to say,  _that's the way the world works, I guess. Too bad._

His eyes flitted off to one side, the closest I would get to seeing him roll his eyes. "I'll..." he paused, trailing off. "I'll stay outside," he compromised, "only if you promise to set a time for returning to the hotel."

The swift temptation to negotiate further with him crowded my mind, but I gave in, holding out my hand for him to shake. "Deal. I suppose you're driving, right?"

I followed him to his car and sat in silence as he drove me downtown, finding the nearest bar I could drown my thoughts in. I didn't even look at the sign before marching right up to the bouncer outside, holding out my ID for him to check. I was waved in, and I gave Wretton a parting wave as the doors enveloped me into the building.

It was clearly a bar that allowed smoking, as a cloudy haze fell over my eyes in the dim room, the repugnant stench of cigarette smoke suffocating my senses. It was moderately full of middle-aged people, men and women alike, looking for a way to debrief after a long day at work. No one noticed me as I found my way to the scarcely-populated bar, sliding into a seat and leaning forward on the counter.

"What can I get you?" The bartender made her way over to me quickly, drying a glass in her hands. Her eyes were wide but tired, her low bun falling out from hours of making drinks.

I looked down at my hands. "Gin and tonic?" I asked. "With olives.  _Lots_  of olives. And in a tub, please."

She grinned, letting out a chuckle at my request for extra dressings and nodded. "Good choice." I watched her make my drink, the art of pouring liquid into a short, clear glass fascinating to my empty self.

As she slid the glass towards me, I flashed a quick smile in thanks, picking it up and proceeding to down the entire thing in only a few swallows. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the  _whoosh_ of alcohol as it went down my throat. "Damn," I hissed through my teeth.

The bartender raised her eyebrows. "Uh, you want another?" I nodded quickly, biting the olives and pulling them off the spear with my teeth.

We went on like that for another round, but I drank the next few drinks a little slower so as to keep my senses with me. I didn't want to go through another birthday... _incident_  again anytime soon, so I took it slow.

But as I got more and more distracted by my thoughts, I'd started wishing that I ordered something stronger.

_"Elda," he whispered in my ear just as I began drifting off to sleep, "Elda, look at me."_

_"Look at me in the morning," I grumbled, hugging myself tighter under the covers. "I'm going to bed."_

_Of course, once I'd broken through his walls, he never stopped talking. "Elda," he insisted, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Elda..."_

_I sighed heavily and turned over, facing him in the dark room. "Bucky," I replied, "if you keep doing this every night, I'm making you sleep downstairs in your own bed."_

_I couldn't see him clearly in the dark room, but I could tell that he was smiling, his nose scrunched in that way that made his demons leave his face, letting me glimpse the version of himself that existed before all this. "Fine," he agreed. "But I just have one question."_

_My eyebrows lifted in question, waiting._

_"Can I kiss you again?"_

_I rolled my eyes, my cheeks flushing. "Buck, we've been over this. You don't have to keep asking."_

_"I know," he grinned, leaning in closer, "but I like it when you blush."_

My eyes were blank as I stared down at my empty glass, reminiscing that one perfect night that we'd had. After months of going at each other's necks, we'd reached a point of friendship, and then...something more. With his nightmares that came nearly every night, I was the one that invited him to keep sleeping in my bed every night.

_"What if I hurt you?" He asked, eyes clouded. "I can't do that again."_

_I put a hand on his shoulder tentatively, watching him as he relaxed under my touch. "You won't," I promised. "I know what I'm getting myself into now."_

We'd even taken the time to look up the best ways to wake up a military veteran from a nightmare, if I needed to do it again. But once he'd started falling asleep in the same space as me, I'd never heard him have a nightmare.

_"I'm...I think I'm actually sleeping now." He sounded surprised._

_I grinned. "Yeah?"_

_"Yeah." He reached across the table and grasped my hand, intertwining our fingers together. "What are you doing to me, Elda Reid?"_

_Winking at him, I replied, "Providing you with the peace of mind you deserve."_

"Hey, are you okay?"

I looked up to see the bartender peering at me, except...well, my vision was a little blurry. A warm trickle down my cheek made me realize that I was  _crying_.

Wiping my eyes, I nodded and stood up. "Yeah, I'll be right back," I excused myself, "where's the bathroom?"

"In the back, the sign's on the wall."

I nodded and stumbled my way back to the bathroom, making my best effort to keep the tears from falling down. I couldn't see myself, but I knew I did a horrible job at it.

Once I reached the bathroom I waited a second, holding myself together for a moment longer. I heard no one in the silence, no feet on the floor in the stalls. I was alone.  _Thank God._

The second the door was locked and I was alone, I crumbled to the floor.  _Stop crying, you pussy_ , a voice in my head scolded me, but I gave it no validation as my shoulders shook with loud sobs that echoed off the walls. I could only hope that the music was loud enough in the bar that no one would come checking on me. Especially Agent Wretton. I had to be out there at eleven, or he'd promised to drag me out by my ear.

I couldn't think of any of that for long though, as I erupted in emotion. For months, I'd been holding it all together, riding on the hopes that I would find Bucky by myself, beat up whoever thought it was okay to steal him from his family, and go back to living my life. But as the months went on, I'd begun to realize how warped that idea was. I had no training, and absolutely no fucking clue where to even  _begin_ searching for Bucky's whereabouts.

I had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea how I'd even gotten here. Not  _here,_ in this place, but  _here_ , in this situation. Bucky was there for awhile, but I should have known he wouldn't be there forever. I should have guessed that his past would catch up with him, regardless of Steve's or Sam's presence. That he would be ripped from my grip just like everything good that has ever happened to me.

It was Cade all over again. But this time, it was the man that I'd fallen in love with.

I didn't know anything about this. I was a fool for thinking I could solve any of this.

Another wave of tears flowed straight out of my lungs, the taste of grief bitter on my tongue.  _You're a fucking idiot, Elda_ , I blamed myself,  _why the fuck would any of this work? You're just running from the truth._

 _You're never gonna find him_.

A stall door squeaked. "Uh, not to make this awkward or anything, but my legs were cramping from all the squatting I was doing on that toilet."

The tears froze on my face and I looked up, cheeks flushing with embarrassment and confusion. A young woman, a few years younger than me by the looks of it, stood in the greater area of the bathroom, staring at me with a grimace. Her brown hair was braided down the back of her head, the thick plait falling over one shoulder. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her denim jacket and she jutted a hip out, planting herself on the tile floor.

"Who—who are you?" I choked out, rubbing my nose.

The stranger waved a dismissive hand at me and squinted. "Do you do this often? Cause we're gonna have a problem if you're this... _blubbery_ all the time."

"I..." I paused, then continued indignantly, "no, this isn't normal. I'm just having a really fucked up day."

"Well, aren't we all?" She held out a hand for me. "Let's go. Places to be, people to see, asses to kick!"

I stared at her hand like it carried an unidentified disease. "Uh, what?"

The woman retracted her hand and smiled, her face brightening with the easy expression. "Oh, I forgot to mention," she said, brushing a stray hair out of her face. "I'm an old... _friend_ of Steve's." She pulled me to my feet and shook my hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Elda. I'm Cara Jansen."


	6. That's the Spirit

I struggled tounderstand. "You know Steve?"

The woman nodded, but her lips curled in something that looked like a distasteful grimace. "Yeah, stars, stripes, and everything that comes with him."

"He never said anything about you," I said plainly, though he probably never had any time to talk about something other than running from the men trying to lock up his best friend.

She clicked her tongue, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. "Let's just say it's been awhile since we talked. Whatever," she shook her head, "I'll tell you all the messy details that you want to know when we get in the car."

I blinked. "That car? I've got a—"

Cara nodded. "I know they're keeping tabs on you. I know you've got a guy out front waiting for you like a personal chauffeur." She rolled her eyes as if to say,  _duh_. "That's why I met you in the bathroom. Come on, we've got to get on the road."

Dumbfounded, my jaw slackened as I tried to process everything this stranger was telling me. "But...I have a hotel room. A fucking expensive one," I scoffed. "I've got all my stuff there."

Cara narrowed her eyes for a second, but then shrugged. "Okay, we'll just make a quick stop over there and pick it up. That's more of a detour than I'd want to take, but I guess it'll be fine."

"Hold on," I held out a hand, scrutinizing her. "Where are we going? And how do I know you're who you say you are?"

She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. It was obvious that she'd thought this process of convincing me to come with her would be much easier. "I've known Sam and Steve for the past six years. I helped rescue your Buckaroo from a Hydra knock-off group called Skull," she met my eyes, "and now I'm seeing that it didn't do much for him, considering he's been captured again."

I crossed my arms to keep myself from throwing my hands up in the air, "Hey, it's not my fault!"  _Yes it is yes it is yes it is yes it is—_

"I never said it was," Cara reassured me. "I'm just saying that Bucky deserves a rest from all of this, but it seems like he'll never get it." She inhaled. "Come on. We're losing time."

"Where are we going? You never answered me."

She smirked, flashing a wink at me. "Where do you think we're going? We're gonna get Steve out of the CIA's slimy hands, we're gonna find Sam, and then we're gonna go on the road trip of our lives to find out where the hell Bucky landed this time."

She jabbed a thumb towards the small window in the bathroom that would lead into the dark night. "You coming?"

* * *

He wasn't dreaming, not really.

The images in his mind, flashing across the horizon of his brain like a movie scene, the numbness that came with it, the voice, the pain,  _oh, the pain_...

They weren't dreams. They were memories. That much he knew.

Some of them consisted of the same words, echoing, agonizing, inside his head. He could hear his own screams of protest, bouncing off the walls of his muddled brain. But the worst part?

 _He didn't even know what he looked like._ He couldn't remember. The only memories that he recognized were the ones that caused the most pain.

_Good morning, Soldier._

Numbness spread over his whole body, terminating any control he had over himself, reducing it to nothing.

_I hope you're not too startled by my voice. This is a new serum, after all._

Pools of blood,  _hundreds dead_ , flashed before his eyes, the dark substance staining the same pair of black boots, dyeing them crimson.

_You see, Soldier, now you won't have to ask for instructions. You'll already know them. I'll be the one giving them to you._

He could hear himself(or what he thought was his voice), a weak version of a human's voice, pleading, " _Stop_ ," with the speaker, who didn't care to listen, and continued talking, breaking him, molding him into a shape that he didn't recognize.

_Relax, Soldier. I'm not going to hurt you. Unless you require discipline, that is. As your superior, I am mentally linked to you. Fascinating, isn't it? How clever our new leaders are._

His mind was dark except for the glint of black metal in the left corner of his vision. Then he realized: the metal belonged to him, connecting to his stump of a shoulder, thick, white scars covering his skin.

_We'll get started soon enough. For now, we need you to respond to my prompts. We need to see if the serum is successful._

Destruction. It was the only thing in his mind, the only thing that kept showing up. It was endless, the raging fires that roared behind him as he retreated into the hands of faceless evils.

_What is your name, Soldier? Tell me. Your name, what is it?_

Faces swam into his view, faces screwed up in pain, others in shock, but all had the unmistakable mask of fear etched on their features. Fear caused by  _him_.

 _Oh, don't be difficult, please. It'll go by much easier if I don't have to discipline you just yet. Your_ name _, Soldier._

The names belonging to his victims began to ring out in his mind, an ominous sea of death that swallowed his every bit of consciousness, taking over everything and allowing him to only listen to the shouts and screams that were orchestrated by him.  _This was the wrath of the Winter Soldier. The ghost story._

_Ah, you prefer your nickname? Yes, you are a ghost story. Well done._

The pain didn't stop. But for a few precious seconds, it lessened, and all he could see was green. A forest.

_Just a few more things, Soldier. Who is Elda Reid?_

And then one face, the face of a woman who used to be innocent, a pure heart that transformed into the strongest heart he'd seen in his life overnight. A woman that he'd known, but now could hardly pull her name to his lips.

_Elda._

_Yes, Soldier. Who is she to you?_

It was all gone in a second, faster than the blink of an eye. A moving mass of black and an orange syringe flashed in his vision and the ground came up to meet him, looking like a soft landing but providing anything but. And the woman that he used to know, she was gone.

_She is no one._

_Very good, Soldier. She is no one to you._

He felt as if he were floating, as if he should be numb to all the pain that he caused. But this wasn't like an easy night of sleeping. The images were real, not a figment of his imagination, and he wasn't waking up soon to chase away his demons.

After all,  _he wasn't dreaming, not really._

* * *

 

I couldn't believe I was doing this. If I wasn't already, I was definitely going to hell after this. "Okay," I agreed, wiping my face again. "Okay, I'm in."

"Hell yeah!" Cara cracked a genuine smile this time, all jokes and sarcastic personality aside. "Out the window we go," she said, pointing to the small window that peered out into the night sky. She hauled herself up on the ledge, easily unlocking and opening the window to push herself out onto the ground outside. She turned around and curled her fingers, gesturing for me to follow.

 _This is insane,_ I told myself.  _You're gonna get in real trouble this time if you're caught. What the fuck is going on?_

But the voice in my head was silenced as I reached for Cara's hand, pushing myself up and out of the window, landing on the soft grass with a light grunt. "What now?" I asked. "I don't know if you know, but this is the first time I'm sneaking away from the authorities." Well, the first time I was doing it with said authorities right at the  _front door of the building._

Cara gave me a knowing once-over. "Yeah, I know. Sam made it clear that you don't do this sort of thing."

My stomach dropped at the sound of Sam's name. "Sam?" I said softly, trying to contain the whirlwind of emotions I felt swirling in my gut. "You talked to Sam?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but only for a little bit. A lot has changed since Steve called me and asked me to come find you."

I paused. "He...asked you to come find me?"

"Uh-huh. That's kind of what I'm doing here. And by the way, you were a  _bitch_ to find—"

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, you moved around way too much, it was so hard to track you."

My eyes widened. "You  _tracked_ me?"

Cara rolled her eyes. "Oh, god. This is gonna be more difficult than I thought."

I had to admit, I wasn't usually like this. So...shocked. But it didn't make any sense to me that Steve would call an old friend just so she could come find me, and for what? To find Bucky? I had no chance of doing such a thing. They were better off doing it by themselves and then telling me when it was over so I could reunite with Bucky. I used to be so cocksure when I set off that day that he was taken, but now I knew the truth. I would just be in their way.

Tugging me along behind her, we sneaked around the side of the building to the alley behind, where an old pickup truck was parked—

"Is that my truck?"

Cara nodded. "Yeah. I nipped it from the motel you were staying at, changed the plates, and now it's all good to go."

"You stole my truck?" I froze in my tracks.

She peered back at me and shrugged. "What? I was gonna bring it back to you anyway. That's what I'm doing right now."

"You  _stole_ my truck?" I walked forward cautiously, inspecting every inch that I could see, checking for a dent, a scratch, the chipping of paint on the side of it.

My new—what was she? My friend? Ally? She got in on the driver's side and cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, are you gonna keep repeating yourself or are we gonna get on the road?"

"You...stole my truck."

"You  _do_ know you're saying the same thing, right? Like, the simulation isn't glitching, is it?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What?"

"Never mind." She started the car, the engine growling to life. "Come on. It's almost eleven, your CIA agent is gonna be looking for you soon."

I felt a snag of guilt at the thought of leaving Agent Wretton behind, but I steeled myself. He worked for the CIA, the people who were responsible for my brother's death and who were currently working to find my beloved so they could keep him in a cage. I had to find him before they did. I  _had_ to. There was no other way.

"Where to?" I swallowed nervously, cracking an anxious smile at Cara in the dark.

She smiled. "That's the spirit."


	7. A Bad Rom-Com

We'd been inthe car for less than fifteen minutes before the silence began to pound in my ears. The space between the two of us was so dead that I was afraid my breathing would be considered disruptive in the charged air. "So, um..." I tried to start a conversation, but each time I backed out, unsure of where to even begin. I was in  _my_ car, sitting in the passenger seat with a stranger who claimed to know Steve and Sam. It was so ridiculous that I tried not to laugh.

"You know, I thought you'd be a little more talkative," Cara offered up a conversation, though her eyes never left the road. "But I suppose that's why you and Bucky hooked up, huh? You're both quiet."

I blushed as I heard the loosely thrown term "hooked up." We most definitely had  _not_ done that, but of course, it wasn't like I'd never thought about it. When things were different, though. When I was under the false impression that everything would stay the same, that no one would find us there. What a fool I'd been, acting like a lovesick teenager with no troubles in the world. What an absolute fool.

"I'm not usually this quiet," I defended myself to the stranger that was slowly becoming something like an acquaintance. "I'm just...thinking."

Cara scrunched her nose up in disgust. "Sounds boring."

"Actually, I don't think I quite understand everything that you told me," I told the driver, who turned out to be just three years younger than me.

"Ask me anything," she shrugged, "I guess we'll have to get to know each other sometime."

I swallowed before inquiring, "So you...you were an Avenger?"

Shrugging again, Cara made a lane change before answering, "I mean, I never really liked being a part of that group, but I guess you could say so."

"Do you have, like, superpowers or something?" The girl looked perfectly normal, but I still peered at her as if she would start glowing if I stared long and hard enough.

She snorted. "No, I'm not that lucky. I'm just wicked with a gun."

"Are you like...what's her name...oh! Are you like Black Widow, then?"

Cara lifted her eyebrows and smiled, as if reflecting on a fond memory. "Oh, she hated me. For the first little bit, at least. I'd tried my hand at pick-pocketing when I first moved out on my own, and she happened to be the lucky winner. Of course, she never lets anyone get away with anything, so she beat me into shape before allowing herself to see that we had a similar set of skills."

I couldn't imagine being  _hated_ so strongly by an Avenger, but I supposed that even the Earth's Mightiest Heroes had their misgivings about other people. "Okay. And you said you rescued Bucky before?"

"Uh-huh. He's got a penchant for getting captured, don't you think?" This was the only time she took her eyes off the road in front of her to glance at me with a teasing glint in the brown depths, but she frowned quickly as she saw the deep glare I was giving her. "Okay," she chuckled nervously, "you're not going to think those jokes are funny yet, are you?"

Scowling, I retorted, "Those jokes are  _never_ gonna be funny, Cara."

"Sheesh." Reaching out for one of the knobs in the car, she turned on the radio. "It's like a bad rom-com in here."

A few minutes went by in silence again before Cara complained, "Jesus, how far away is this damn hotel? I thought you said it was close by!"

"Close to the headquarters, yeah, but it's not right by the bar!"

We finally spotted the hotel in their sights and Cara pulled into the parking lot. "Okay, you've gotta make this quick, we don't have much time until your agent comes back to the hotel."

I glanced up at her. "How much time?"

She shrugged. "Maybe...five minutes?"

I cursed and clutched the key in my hand as I opened the door of the truck and sped to the front doors, flinging them open. Rushing past the receptionist, I chose to take the stairs(a bad idea, as my room was on the third floor), huffing and puffing all the way up to my room. When I reached the door, I unlocked it and worked faster than I'd ever thought was possible, a thousand thoughts whirling through my mind.

"This is crazy, this is crazy, this is  _crazy_ ," I groaned as I grabbed everything I could see off the shiny counters and fancy carpet.  _This better work_ , I prayed internally.  _This better work, or I'm probably going to jail._

 _Well, that was awfully optimistic_ , I grumbled.

I hurried back down to the lobby of the hotel, practically flinging the room key at the receptionist. "I need an early checkout," I breathed heavily, exerting more energy than I was used to.

A scoff. "I'd say." A surprised glance to my left revealed Cara, leaning against the desk and smiling kindly at the lady behind it. "She's making a surprise visit to her cousins this weekend, and, can you believe it? She forgot!"

"Okay, Cara. Let's go." I beckoned her with a hand, heading out to the door and waiting impatiently for her to follow. "What are you doing?" I hissed.

My new friend waved a hand dismissively. "No, no, no, I'm just getting to know..." she squinted her eyes at the name tag on the lady's shirt and smiled. "Amelia over here. She's got three kids, did you know that?"

I rolled my eyes. I knew I had the tendency to act like act like a distracted teenager all the time, a characteristic that Bucky had found mildly amusing, but this was new for me. The baby had become the babysitter, it seemed. "No, I didn't," I answered quickly, "and it's all very fascinating, but we  _need to go_." When Cara looked back at me, she saw the clock ticking in my eyes and shook herself out of it.

"Yeah, alright, let's go." She waved at the receptionist in farewell and we jogged to the car.

Just as we got in, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot onto a back road, I spotted Agent Wretton's black car making its way into the space they were just in. "Drive," I whispered, afraid he might hear me from his close proximity. " _Drive_."

"I'm going, I'm going," Cara hummed, sinking her foot on the gas pedal. The darkness offered a shield, but I wasn't sure it would be good enough.

* * *

Agent Wretton slammed his hand on the steering wheel before getting out of his car and marching into the hotel. He'd just spent the last hour scouring that wretched bar and every surrounding street. He was a fool for trusting that Reid girl and expecting her to come back to him at eleven o'clock, like they'd planned. Now it was nearing one in the morning when he approached the receptionist and practically spat in her face, "Has anyone come in here in the last two hours?" He was nearly shaking as he held out his badge.

The lady behind the desk, her name tag reading  _Amelia_ , was obviously shaken by the exchange. "Uh, yeah. Two women, they came in just a few minutes ago. One of them was asking for an early checkout, said she had to go surprise her cousins with a visit this weekend?"

Wretton scowled. "What was her name? The one that was checking out?" He didn't usually get this riled up when things didn't go his way, but that was just it. Things  _always_ went his way.

She looked hesitant to answer him, but he shoved his badge closer to her face, and she quickly typed something into her computer and answered, "Elda Reid."

He cursed and nodded.  _Figures._  "Who was she with?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Who was she with, you said she was with someone."

She shrugged. "I'm sorry, I don't know. She was going with her, I just assumed they were family. Or friends."

He shifted uncomfortably, itching to run to his car and take her back into custody. But he had to think rationally, come up with a better plan than  _attack_. "Thank you. If you wouldn't mind showing me the security footage from the last hour?" He took a few steps away from the desk to dial a number into his phone, putting it up to his ear and chewing his lip. All these years in the business, and a  _kid_ had gotten away from him.

"Ross," his superior answered.

Wretton tried to stifle the curl of his lips as he heard his boss's voice. "Sir, she's gone." He shook his head.  _I knew this was going to happen._

"She's what?" Ross, clearly, had thought everything would go exactly to plan.

He inhaled sharply. "Elda Reid has left the premises."

There was a pause, and he could hear a door closing in the background before Ross continued. "Is she on foot? Is she alone? What do you know? Details, Wretton, this isn't your first assignment."

The middle-aged agent had to keep himself from spewing something horrid at Everett Ross, swallowing his pride and answering, "I'm looking into it, sir." He spared one glance to the lady at the desk who was on the phone, evidently with the security officers and asking to see the footage he was in search of. "I just wanted to make you aware of her absence. She may be with someone who's helping her find Barnes. I can't cover all the ground by myself, though."

 _If I was able to just get in my car and handle this my way, she'd already be back in my hands._  But no, he was following protocol.

Ross cleared his throat. "I hear you. I'm sending a team to the hotel right now. I want you to set up a perimeter of the city—"

"The entire city?"

His words were icy as he warned, "You're doubting me, Wretton?" When the agent was quiet, he finished, "Set up a perimeter around the city and find this girl. If she's on foot, she can't have gotten far within the last few hours. If she's in a vehicle, she might be closer to the city's edge. No need to make this a booming operation just yet, Wretton."

He nodded. "Understood."

"If you don't find her, though...we're going to have to break some promises we made to her parents."

"Sir?"

Ross sighed. "If you don't find her, put her name on the news, call out nationwide for help in searching for Elda Reid. She may not like being famous, but she is our white knight. Elda is the key to locating Barnes and this rogue organization. She just doesn't know it yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always for reading!


	8. Fast and Furious

I couldn't keep my legs still as I watched anxiously out the window, waiting for something to go wrong, for Wretton to jump out of the shadows and catch us, turning this plan to dust before it even had the time to form anything of worth.

"What are you gonna do?" I asked nervously, my knee jumping erratically. The car slowed to a stop and I whirled her head to stare at Cara. "Why are you stopping? We have to go!"

Cara rolled her eyes and pointed in front of her. "It's a red light, Elda. We're not in a car chase yet, so there's no point waking up the kindly neighbors at ungodly hours of the night."

Shrugging, I looked at the clock in my truck. It was nearing two in the morning. I supposed she made a good point, but it didn't keep my heartbeat or my knee from moving quickly to an anxious beat. "I just want to be gone already. Out of their reach."  _I want to go find Bucky_ , I wanted to say, but I didn't waste my breath. With any luck, we'd escape this night with our lives. The CIA didn't quit easily when people of interest tried getting away from them. I knew that as much.

"Don't worry, we're gonna be out of here in no time, you just sit and relax."

Easier said than done, I knew. I frowned as I slumped in the passenger seat, willing Cara to drive faster, to get us out of this damned city. To hell with drawing attention to ourselves, I wanted to be somewhere safe where I could sleep with both eyes shut.

Scoffing gently, I shook my head.  _Like that'll ever happen again_.

As the radio pulsed softly through the speakers, Cara humming along to a song I didn't recognize, I felt myself slipping into my innermost thoughts again, which turned out to be the most peaceful, yet most dangerous place for me to be. Although I was all alone in my mind, a sensation I craved to have every day, I was alone to think about anything and everything that had gone wrong in my life up to that point.

So, as usual, along came Bucky. With his goddamn good looks and long hair and one arm.

It had only been a few months since I'd seen him, but now I was having a hard time calling him to my mind's eye. The thought of him was always there, yes, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember everything that made him... _him._

Like the way that his lips curled in a gentle smile when I pushed myself against his side during our movie nights. I could hardly remember the shallow dimples that carved their way into his cheeks as he looked at me.

Or the way that his eyes sparkled when he caught me staring at him, knowing full well just how delicious he looked in his white tank top and dark jeans. I could concentrate with all my being, but I couldn't picture just how much they glittered when he knew I was thirsting after him.

I could remember the way it felt to hold him, but that memory was beginning to fade as well. Each night since he'd been taken, I tried to remember what it felt like every time he stood there, enveloped in my arms. Sometimes he wept for a part of him that he could no longer grasp, and other times he just walked toward me and crushed me to my chest, as if he was still boggled by the fact that I was real, and I was doing this all for him.

The only memory that remained the clearest picture, though I willed it away, was the image of Bucky pressed to the dirt, his eyes screwed up in pain as he realized what all of this meant. My mind's eye played a cruel trick on me, forcing me to relive the orange substance in the syringe being shoved into his arm, his body falling limp as he was carried off to the vehicle and shuttled off to God knows where.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I saw it again, clamping the heels of my hands against my closed eyes. A shaky breath left my lips, and I felt myself sinking, right into the leather seat, down to the floor of the truck, out onto the concrete, broken beyond repair.

A warm hand on my leg roused me from my thoughts and I looked up at Cara, who offered me a small smile in the darkness. "Hey," she said, one hand on the steering wheel, "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get him back. We're gonna get all of them back. I promise."

I huffed, dragging my hands down my face. "Easy for you to say, Cara."

"I'm serious," she replied earnestly. "If there's one thing I've become better at over the years, it's knowing when something is a fool's mission. And this? This isn't it. I know how much Bucky means to you, and I'm promising you, I'll get you two reunited all by myself if that's what it takes." She squeezed my leg with her hand before returning it to the wheel.

A grin graced my lips as I looked at her, opening my mouth to say something before squinting at something beyond her. "Uh, Cara? What's that?" I asked, pointing a finger to the headlights on her left, coming straight for us.

"Probably just an Uber driver getting their income from a person drunk off their ass," she said confidently. The intersection ahead of us remained green, so she continued cruising to the other side.

But the car on our left wasn't slowing down. If anything, it was getting faster, barreling towards us at breakneck speed. "Cara, they're going faster, wha—"

When she spared a glance at the car, she registered just how close they were getting to us and she let out a slew of curses before dropping a lead foot on the acceleration and gunning it out of the intersection. "Jesus Christ," she breathed heavily, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Shit!" She exclaimed, running a hand through her hair. "Looks like your CIA agent found us, Elda."

Every thought of Bucky fled from my mind as I spared a look behind us, spotting the headlights of the car that was getting closer and closer with every passing second. "Yeah, that's Red, all right."

"You've got a nickname for the guy?" Cara chuckled. "Looks like you and I are gonna get along way better than I thought."

I rolled my eyes, "Not the time, Cara. Drive!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and leaned forward, as if moving with the direction of the car would make it go faster. "Damn thing won't go as fast as I want it," she grumbled.

"Hey!" I gasped despite our current predicament. "That's my truck you're talking about!"

"I'm sure your truck is perfect for all  _other_ things, but when you've gotta run from the authorities, I'm not gonna lie, it does a pretty shitty job."

I shook my head and gripped my seat belt in my hands to occupy myself with holding onto  _something_. "Whatever, just get us out of here."

Cara's plan of just driving straight until we lost Wretton was proven to be a waste, though, as two sets of headlights turned in front of us, crashing towards us just as fast as Wretton behind us. "Holy shit," she yelped as she looked to her right down a street, spotting one more car in the darkness of the early morning, corralling us to wherever they wanted us to go. As she whipped around a turn to our left, I realized that we were already lost. We were playing into their hands, doing exactly what they wanted us to do.

My friend clearly hadn't had this revelation yet as she screamed, "Hell yeah, I'm fast and fuckin'  _furious_!"

"What are you talking about?" I growled, my breath coming fast and panicked. My twenty-seven-year-old body didn't want to die, but with the way she was driving, I wasn't sure I'd make it out of tonight, purely from the stress. " _SLOW DOWN!_ " I yelled as I read the orange sign on the side of the empty city road:  _ROAD CLOSED AHEAD_.

Cara gritted her teeth and spat, "Do you want to get out of here or what? Let me drive!"

"You're driving  _my_ car, I don't want to fucking blow up!"  _When did I get like such a paranoid adult?_ I wondered.  _Probably since you started hanging around an irrational twenty-four-year-old,_ a voice in my head sneered.

"Relax, I've got it!"

My eyes were wide as saucers as we sped towards the closed off road. Slabs of concrete were torn up from the ground, creating a ramp-like shape as they acted as a road block. I opened my mouth to let out a scream when Cara jerked the wheel to the left, effectively pulling a U-turn and flying around to sit still, staring at the four cars coming for us. They had us trapped. We were finished. "Cara—"

"Shut up," she growled as she put the car into gear. "Time to work some magic. Put your head down," she instructed, her playful tone giving way to a commanding woman of authority.

"What?" I was too focused on the possibility of dying at two in the morning to fully process what she was saying.

"Put your head down, Elda, or so help me God, I will shove it between your knees so fast you'll have whiplash!" She reached a hand under the steering wheel for something, beginning to accelerate again, this time, no doubt, playing a game of chicken with the CIA agents. A game I knew that she would lose.

"Okay, okay!" I yelled, slumping down in my seat and covering my head with my hands.

The truck was going so fast that I was sure we'd collide with someone or something soon enough, but then I heard Cara mutter something under her breath before releasing a deep breath. The next thing I heard was gunshots. Eight of them, to be exact. I jumped each time they rang out. I thought they were shooting at us, that Cara was going to be shot dead at any second, but then I felt something  _whoosh_  past my ear, and I realized that Cara was the one with the gun.

 _What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!_ I was screaming in my head.  _She's gonna get us both killed!_

I held my breath and watched as she let out a grunt, dropping her gun on her lap and jerking the wheel again, twirling us around for the second time. I lifted my head and peeked into the side mirror, watching as Agent Wretton stepped out of his car that was stopped on the side of the road. He didn't run after us, he just stood there. And behind him were the three other cars, simply sitting on the side of the road.

But just as I thought we were done, I turned back to look ahead of us and remembered the concrete blockade that we were currently facing. "Please don't tell me—" I groaned.

"Hold on!" Cara shouted, and we went hurtling toward the concrete slab. I could already see the front of the truck getting squashed like an aluminum can, I could see my head flying into a painful contact with the dashboard, I could see both of us dying on impact. But Cara gritted her teeth, growling as she stepped on it and drove straight for the road block.

Suddenly we were on the ramp-like structure, and then we were in the air, we were flying over the fence and into the construction zone in the  _pitch black morning_ , and I was screaming, and my eyes were squeezed shut, and Cara wasn't saying anything, and all I could think to say was,  _I'm gonna die, I'm about to die, this is it_ —

We landed roughly, the truck bouncing uncomfortably as the ground came up and met us. Cara let out a sharp "Woohoo!" and pumped the air with a tight fist, a triumphant smile breaking her concentrated face.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. Pressing a hand to my furiously beating heart, I looked over at the smiling young woman and screamed, " _Are you out of your fucking mind?_ "

She just threw her head back and laughed, continuing to drive toward the city's edge. "All the best people are, El."

Sighing, I sat back in my seat and felt the laughter bubble up to my mouth after a few minutes of shocked silence. "What...what the hell was that?" I said, pointing to the gun that was still sitting in her lap.

"I shot out their tires," she spoke with a rather matter-of-fact tone, as if to say,  _duh, you couldn't tell?_

I blanched. "Wha—but how...?"

Cara smirked. "I told you, I'm wicked with a gun."


	9. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, it's been awhile since this was updated! but i have several chapters that have been written, i just wasn't able to get them up on here yet. enjoy!

The sun hadonly just begun to rise when Cara broke the silence. We'd finally made our way out of the city of Langley, Virginia, but I knew that it would take ages for me to eventually feel safe. My heart still raced each time we spotted another car on the highway with us, my mind convincing me that Agent Wretton was near, laying in wait until we decided to make the fatal mistake of getting out of the car or exposing ourselves to the world.

"Keep a lookout for a parking garage," Cara said as she pulled off the highway. "A car rental would work better, but anything we can find is gonna have to do."

I furrowed my eyebrows. I was beginning to realize how horribly my plan would have gone if I'd stuck to my own ideas of getting Bucky back by myself. I needed someone with experience, someone with knowledge of being a fugitive. Someone like Cara. "What for?"

Her ponytail brushed her shoulder as she looked to her left, judging whether or not she could successfully make the right turn onto the next street. When she did, she answered, "We're getting a new ride. It's time to make a change."

My chin jerked to glare a her so fast that I felt a small pain at the back of my neck from the force. "You're getting rid of my truck?" I asked, partially confused, while anger clouded my vision.

Shrugging, Cara had her head on a swivel as she looked for anywhere we could stash the car and switch it out. "Common sense, Elda," she said, exasperated, "we can't go on the run in a vehicle like this! Everyone knows what it looks like now. We've got to get a new one." She makes a few more turns, my voice falling silent in disappointment. I was in for some kind of adventure, that was sure. Giving up the last thing that tied me to my house was definitely  _not_ what I expected to do that day, and needless to say, I wasn't happy about it.

I didn't say anything more, though, as I knew that Cara would only get louder and press her point more. She was good at that. Winning arguments happened to be a strong talent of hers, something that probably accompanied her throughout her entire life.

"Bulls-eye," Cara muttered, and I looked out the window to see a parking garage on our right, the concrete structure standing tall in the middle of what looked to be a downtown area of wherever we were. "Alright, I'm gonna need two dollars when we leave here." She paused a moment to raise her eyebrows expectantly at me.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, and you don't have any money on you, is that it?"

Cara's too-sweet smile was nearly comical as she said smartly, "If I'm driving, then you're paying." She collected the ticket that was dispensed from the machine and proceeded into the garage, slowly pushing the truck up to the top. "Ooh, that one's nice, right?" She said when we passed a bright orange sports car. "Too flashy, but a girl can dream." This same exchange happened again, enough times that I began to think that my new friend was having far too much fun with the prospect of stealing a car.

Only when we got to the top of the parking garage did we come across a strong black Jeep, the frame making a shape like a box on wheels. I'd never cared much for the aesthetic of cars, but I was beginning to understand just what made Cara Jansen tick. And for some reason, it was cars.

She smiled simply. "That's the one." Parking next to it and cutting the engine, she sighed. "This one looks fun, wouldn't you say?"

"Cara, we're  _stealing_  it," I tried to reason with her. "This is  _grand theft auto_."

The young woman cocked an eyebrow. "You really know your crime, huh?"

I shook my head. "No, I watch TV. Enough of it to know that this is illegal, and we could get in serious trouble for this."

"Oh, but escaping from the CIA and shooting out their tires isn't?" Cara scoffed, opening the passenger door. "Elda, I came here to do a job. To fulfill a promise I made to Steve. If you truly want to get back to Bucky this badly—"

"I  _do_ ," I insisted.

"Then you're gonna have to let go of your pre-existing morals. At least," she squinted, "some of them. This job is going to take more than prayers and dumb luck, Elda. This is going to take a lot out of you. I hope you're prepared."

I hesitated. What she was saying, most likely, was that I'd emerge a different person after all of this, in light of victory or failure. I would be a new person. But I'd already been transformed once. Bucky made me a new version of myself. What was one more change? So I nodded. "I am."

Cara eyed me for a moment before nodding. "Okay, grab your stuff from the back and put it in there, I'm gonna get this thing started." It didn't take her long to slide a thin piece of metal down the window and unlock the door, reaching in to follow through with her plan. While she did that, I gathered my things and transferred them from my beloved truck to this new Jeep, which had food wrappers and kid's toys in the back seat.  _Oh, god,_ I moaned internally at the sight.  _It's a family car._

The car grumbled to life, and Cara let out a gentle whoop of celebration. Looking back at me in disdain, she hissed urgently, "It's not a fucking vacation, El, it's a goddamn  _getaway_! Put some effort into it!"

I glared at her and finished putting my things away before closing the door to my truck. "Leave the keys," I said, "If we're leaving my truck, we may as well give it to someone else."

Cara shook her head, but tossed the keys so they landed on the hood of the car. Careless, putting the keys in a place where anyone could take them, but despite the discomfort in my stomach at the sight, I knew that it was the whole point of this pit stop.

I tapped my foot anxiously as we left the parking garage, pulling out two wrinkled dollar bills from my pocket. Every second that passed, I expected to see a police car, or hear someone yelling at us to stop. I could see a little girl or boy in my mind, looking on in confusion as two strange women drove away in their family's car. I hated my mind for doing it to me, but I supposed it was nice to remain somewhat humane in situations like this. Who knew what lengths I'd have to go to in the upcoming weeks.

"See? That was easy," Cara said, though her voice lost its usual upbeat energy. "Now, it's time to collect a pigeon."

I was cut from my thoughts, widening my eyes at the expression. "Sorry, what?"

She smirked. "Sam. He's in Kentucky."

My stomach tightened at the sound of his name. I could still see his back, retreating from me as he left me to deal with the consequences of that awful day. If I got my hands on him, I would...well, it wouldn't be pretty, that was for sure. "What?" I asked, wringing my hands in an attempt to keep my voice level. "Why?"

She shrugged, gripping the wheel. "He's in hiding, he's constantly moving."

"Yeah, but how do you know he's in Kentucky?" I'd clearly missed something here.

"Steve told me." She said it flatly, like it tasted sour in her mouth. The sound of his name coming from her mouth wasn't exactly  _happy_ , either.

I leaned back in the seat and crossed my arms. "What, just like that?"

Cara shook her head. "No, of course not. Steve's a dumbass, but he's not an idiot. He gave me a code to decipher, and I did. It's where his parents grew up, apparently."

I nodded. It was true, I'd known that since I was a little girl and Sam was telling me all of his favorite stories about his parents. It was a wonder that I didn't think of it myself. "Alright," I nodded again, "I believe you."

She gritted her teeth, tightening her jaw. "Let's just hope he didn't have any surprise visitors while I was looking for  _you_ , though."

My eyes dropped to my lap. Though I was sure I wanted to wring Sam's neck,  _I_ wanted to be the one to inflict harm on the sorry bastard. If anyone else got to him first, I wasn't sure what I was going to do. "Yeah," I said softly, "let's hope."

* * *

 

I'm not usually one to get annoyed by anyone other than idiots and my parents, whom can be one in the same more times than not, but after nearly eight hours on the open road with no one else but a twenty-four-year-old ex-Avenger that also happened to be in a previous relationship with  _Captain fuckin' America_ , I was spent. My brain was fried, and I wanted my ears to be burned off by the amount of absolute nonsense that came out of her mouth.

I mean,  _really_. How many TLC songs can you sing from heart before being declared a lunatic? For my taste, it seemed to be around fifteen.

But then again, there were the good moments that countered the bad. It had been so long since I'd spent time with a girl close to my age, and though I rolled my eyes so many times that I was afraid they would remain facing the back of my skull, I found myself relaxing in the cadence of Cara's youthful charm. In some ways, she reminded me of a teenager, excited to go on a road trip with someone. But in other ways, she sounded like a wise woman of age, speaking about things even I had no knowledge of.

Morehead, Kentucky was a place I'd never been, though I'd heard much about it through the words of my childhood best friend. The town was quaint, the streets quiet as we rolled in during the early afternoon. We were both practically dead on our feet, though we supposed it was a blessing that we were, in fact,  _not_ on our feet, but still sitting.

Cara seemed to know the way, and before long we were sitting in front of a small, one-story house with dark blue shutters and a matching front door. I swallowed roughly. If we were right, Sam would be inside, or at least nearby. But if we were wrong, the CIA could have tracked us using their insatiable technology, and it'd all be over before it had even begun.

I went to open the passenger door when Cara grabbed my forearm, yanking me back inside the car. "Elda, wait." When I raised my eyebrows, she said, "What if his parents are home?"

Shaking my head, I reassured her, "They're dead, Cara." I turned my head to look at the windows again, as if Sam would look out from behind the white curtains and see us. "Besides, so what? It's not like we're nationally wanted fugitives."

Cara scoffed. "Yeah, not  _yet_."

A shiver rushed down my spine at the thought. I cursed myself for thinking of my parents at that moment, wondering what they would think of their daughter if they saw my name added to the list of America's Most Wanted.  _Fuck off_ , I grumbled inwardly.  _There's no point in thinking about them now._

I sighed, gathered myself, and opened the door again, stepping out onto the street. My feet dragged across the overgrown grass, finding my way to the garage. The door on the side of the building caught my eye, and when I tried it, the hinges squeaked, swinging open into the dark space. My eyes adjusted, albeit slowly, and I reached for a string that hung from the ceiling, pulling it to turn on a light. With the garage now illuminated, I found my way to the door that would lead me into the house.

Gulping as I stepped inside, I wished that I had my trusty baseball bat in my hand.

The room I'd stepped into was the kitchen, and the sight of dishes strewn about, food left on the counter, was startling. If Sam was here, he'd be careful with what he left out. He'd always been a rather neat person, so the appearance of this mess was disconcerting. I padded over silently to the stove, hovering my hand above one of the burners to find that it was still warm.

_Still warm. Someone's in here with me._

I inched my way around, my breath shaking. If only Cara had come with me, then maybe I had a chance of getting out of here without dying or being turned over to the CIA. My feet were silent as I practically crawled to the door frame that would lead further into the house. My hand lifted to brush a strand of hair away—

A white bowl slid from the counter as I bumped into it, and it went flying to the tile below, crashing and making an unbearably loud shattering sound that had my stomach hurtling into my throat. I couldn't do anything to stop it, I covered my mouth with my hands and squeezed my eyes shut.  _If I think hard enough, they won't see me._

I only opened my eyes when I heard his familiar voice. "Holy shit, Elda."

And there he was, the man that had abandoned me those months ago. Sam Wilson, in the flesh, holding a gun up to me.

My initial reaction was shock at seeing him, actually  _seeing_ him, and everything else faded away. Even my thoughts of making him pay for what he did to me had fled my mind. I blinked and whispered, "Do you mind putting that thing down?"

His eyes were wide as he stared at me, as if not quite believing I was there. "Yeah, uh, sorry." He dropped it onto the counter and crashed into me, pulling me tight against his chest. "It's so good to see you."

My arms remained limp at my side, refusing to return the embrace. "You too," I said weakly into his chest.

It wasn't long before I motioned for Cara to come inside. I wasn't sure I could handle this alone.

She narrowed her eyes at Sam when she saw him. "Hey there, pigeon."

He rolled his eyes at the nickname, giving her a once-over. "Gee, Cara, you look...older."

Cara scoffed. "Thanks. You're the spitting image of unemployment." She grinned at the mock annoyance that he showed at the weak insult. "It's good to see you."

He beckoned them to the living room. "Come on, sit down. We've got a lot to talk about, huh?"

Before we could reply, the television in his living room spoke, drawing our attention to the picture on screen. It took me a moment to realize I was staring at my own face.

"Authorities for the Central Intelligence Agency ask that the people of the United States keep a peeled eye for this woman, Elda Reid, a twenty-seven-year-old originating from Northern Wisconsin. She has been identified as a key player in the case regarding James Barnes and Sam Wilson, both of whom are still missing."

My jaw went slack. I was on the news. I was  _wanted_.

"Hey, that's pretty sick!" Cara clapped me on the shoulder, jolting me forward.

I scowled. "Shut up, Cara, you're not the one that's being called a fugitive of the state."

The screen cut to a feed of a press conference, none other than Agent Wretton speaking into a microphone. "We have reason to believe that Reid is being assisted by one Cara Jansen, a twenty-four-year-old from New York."

The brunette beside me chuckled. "Aw, hell yeah, I am!"

Sam blew out a breath and stared up at me. "She's..." he started, "she's so weird."

I pursed my lips. "Yeah," I said, jabbing a thumb in her direction. "Try eight hours with that."

Cara slapped my arm playfully. "Hey!"

The sound of Sam's laughter filled my ears, a sound I'd gone without for so long, and it was now feeling unfamiliar. Like he was a stranger to me. But after what he'd done, abandoning me like a foul captain to its crew and passengers, I supposed that's exactly what he was.

My childhood best friend was now a man I hardly recognized. And it shook me to my core.


	10. Red Curtains

"I don't wantto talk about it," Cara insisted, crossing her arms as she sat across from Sam on the couch. Her feet up on the coffee table, she sat with her knees out, taking up as much space as she could. It was man-spreading if I'd ever seen it. "What happened between Cap and I is our own business. I've moved on, and so has he." She turned up her nose and looked up at the ceiling.

Sam smirked, giving me a sidelong glance. "No offense, Cara, but it kind of seems like you haven't."

My cheeks tingled with the way that he looked at me. The way that it was so natural for him, exactly like the good old days before all this. But I stifled a growl when his eyes met mine, forcing out a smile instead. I inhaled deeply to calm my senses, but I caught the sharp tang of earth and trees, like the forest surrounding my house. My eyes were open, but I saw Sam running away from me in my mind's eye, from the house, on his own to go and hide.

I'm sure Cara responded at some point, but I couldn't hear her over the blood roaring in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut and put my face in my hands, curling into myself while sitting on the couch. There was nothing louder than my own shaky breathing for a few minutes. I didn't know where this was coming from. The smell of dirt, the memory of Sam leaving, I had no idea what brought it on. I'd been living alone after that day for months, and not once had my mind warped me like this.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Sam brought me out of my thoughts with a hand on my shoulder. It was meant to be kind, a compassionate gesture to an obviously struggling person next to him. But it only gave me the slightest sensation of pressure on my back and the urge to throw up. I shot up to my feet, my eyes wild as I looked at him. "I-I'm fine."

My friend, unable to let go of his mindset of a group leader at the Veterans Affairs, gave me a soft look. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

"I said I'm fine," I snapped. I scraped my scalp with my nails as if to claw the images and sensations out of my mind. Bringing myself to meet Cara's eyes, I held out a hand.

She knitted her eyebrows, perplexed. "Uh, sorry, I'm not one to hold hands much." Her hands slid into her pockets.

I rolled my eyes. "The keys," I said. "I'm gonna get the car off the street. It's too noticeable."

Cara stared at me. "There aren't any, remember? We jimmy-rigged the ignition. I can show you how, if you want."

"Oh." I shook my head. "No, that's okay. I can figure it out." I blocked out any noises of protest from either one of them and crept out the door, darting to the car in front of the house.

I'd never actually started a car without keys before, but I'd seen enough movies to know the general instructions.  _Huh,_ I thought,  _pop culture is actually coming in handy_.

The car started with a low rumble, and I quickly maneuvered it into the garage, Sam having opened the door to assist me. The second I turned the vehicle off, the large garage door slid shut.

"Did anyone see you?" He asked, eyes darting back and forth out the window. 

I shook my head. "Not likely." Wiping my hands on my jeans, I inhaled deeply and—thankfully—only smelled the bitter, metallic tang of gasoline.  _It's gone, but for how long?_  I still felt like it hovered in my nose, set aside for now only to come back at the most inopportune moment.

Sam nodded. "Good." He turned around and walked toward the sink, filling a glass with water. "Want something to drink, ladies? We've got a lot to talk about."

There was something so irritating about his nonchalance, his nearly careless attitude, that I had to hold myself back from knocking his jaw out of place. "Sure," I said stiffly.

We sat down again and waited for Sam to talk. My limbs were weary from the crazy past few days with little to no sleep, but the water temporarily refreshed me, the cool liquid sliding down my throat.

"I've been using my parents' house as a...a safe house," he explained. "I was planning on getting Steve back somehow but, uh, it's kind of hard to do that with only one person." He grimaced at us. "Looks like we've got the three of us now, though."

I nodded. "So, what's the plan, then?"

Cara jumped in. "I've been driving too long, spending too much time with  _Her Majesty_ over here." She jabbed a thumb in my direction, but winked good-naturedly when I gave her a dirty look. "Even though I could give that guy a serious kick to the balls, I'm in. How do we get Cap out of their grimy hands?"

"It's probably gonna take awhile to get  _Steve_ out of his predicament, but it's possible." Sam glanced at me, but dropped his eyes to his lap before I could face him. "I've had a few thoughts, but nothing worth trying." He adjusted in his seat, looking...ashamed? "Seems like I've lost my touch," he said softly.

"Well, don't worry about it, Sammy," Cara replied swiftly, moving her feet to the floor and leaning forward to place her elbows on her knees. "I'm sure we'll get it all sorted out."

I watched the shadow of a tree branch swaying on the otherwise sun-filled coffee table, my eyes starting to droop with the near-hypnotic movement.

Cara snickered. "Looks like we'll have to wait until tomorrow for all that, though."

Forcing my eyes to open, I shook my head. "No, I'll be fine. Just a little tired."

This time it was Sam that protested. "She's right," he said, "we can pick up with this tomorrow. We've got time."

As he ushered me down the hall to an empty room, I shot a response at him.  _We_ don't  _have time,_ the angry voice in my head thrashed around,  _the longer it takes to get Steve, the longer it takes to bring Bucky back to me. The more hopeless this mission becomes._

I didn't have the heart to look back at Sam or ask him to bring in my bags from the car, so I just waved a hand in dismissal and shuffled to the bed. I hardly noticed the decorations on the walls, or the frilly bedspread on the mattress. I wouldn't remember taking off my shoes and collapsing on the bed in pure exhaustion, but they definitely happened, as I would wake up in bed with my shoes and some layers of my clothes strewn across the floor.

My eyes closed in a matter of seconds, my body yearning to pull itself down into much-needed sleep, but my mind refused to let go of the waking world.

 _You're losing time_ , it told me.

 _I need this,_ I replied in my head,  _I'm going to burn out if I don't sleep._

_If you sleep, you'll lose Bucky._

"Shut up," I mumbled into the pillow. "Shut the fuck up. You're lying."

_He won't remember you. He'll probably want to kill you._

I squeezed my eyes shut, engulfing myself into the blackness of my eyelids. " _Shut up!_ " I practically shouted into my pillow. "He'll know who I am. He knows who I am. He  _loves_ me. He told me he  _loves me_. We're going to be just fine. I just have to find him. Then everything's going to be okay. He's going to come back to me. He will." I sounded like a lunatic.

_Just like Cade?_

My mind was a cruel place. For some, it was the solitude that they craved, the peace and quiet that they earned themselves after their long day. For them, their mind was the safest place on the planet. For me, I now saw that my mind was the most dangerous and lethal place for my thoughts. It was dangerous for me to be alone, though I'd been emotionally alone for so many years.

Without Bucky, I was breaking. The cracks and fissures were starting to form, and it wouldn't be long before I would shatter, making one final mess that would have to be picked up. Without Bucky, I was lost.

That was it. He'd completely changed me. After that year with him,  _only_ him, I was a different person. I spent all my time thinking of him, trying to remember him and what it felt like to have him all to myself, but I was descending into a pit that I couldn't climb out of. He made me into this whimpering, whining, crying mess that I was now, and I decided that I hated him for it.

"I hate you," I said, just above a whisper. The darkness pounded in my ears, but the walls, chairs, and desk around me didn't respond. They just stood back, watching and listening as this woman tore herself apart. "I hate you."

But the words tasted bitter in my mouth, and my stomach clenched as I said them. Shaking my head, I began to sob. "I don't mean it, I don't mean it, I don't mean it," I immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, Bucky. I love you, I love you, I'm so sorry."

I don't remember when I started chanting his name, but somewhere along the way, I'd begun repeating my brother's name like a mantra. "Cade," I choked out, "Cade, please forgive me, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for you to die, I love you, I want you to come back. Please come back, Cade, I need you. I need you."

At some point my sobs took over my voice and I drifted into an uneasy sleep, though my tears still dripped down my face and onto the pillow. I was trapped in my own mind.

* * *

 

When I opened my eyes, the walls were bleeding.

I could feel the bed beneath me, and the moonlight shone from the windows, but the darkness of the night did nothing to hide the buckets of blood covering the painted walls, staining them forever. I blinked, willing it to go away, but it did nothing. My nose filled with the metallic stench, the back of my throat suffocating in the taste and smell of it all. I sat up in the bed, holding my hands around my throat as I choked on the sensation. My eyes widened as I saw drops of blood begin to pool on the sheets in front of me, my gag reflex acting up.

It was all around me, the blood was seeping into the carpet, covering my shoes and clothes, rising up into the bed like a faceless monster that would claim me to its red darkness.

 _It's not real, it's not real, it's not real_ , I told myself. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into my palms, but nothing helped to wake me from this nightmare.

And then the lights were on, momentarily blinding me as it all went away. The blood receded up the walls to the crack between the ceiling, the pool of blood below me sank into the mattress, and I inhaled clean air in ragged breaths.

"Elda! Oh my god," a figure leapt toward me, my vision still somewhat blurry. "You're okay, Elda, look at me, I'm right here, you're awake." The figure swam in my eyes but it was clear enough to recognize Cara, her wide blue eyes staring so hard at me that I thought she might drill a hole in my head. "Elda, shh, look at me, look at me," she said. Her hands clasped my forearms, and the stillness I felt made me realize that I had been shaking.

"Are you real?" I asked, my voice muffled by my own ears. I reached out a hand to touch her face. "Are you here?"

She nodded, holding my hand against her cheek. "I'm real. I'm here. You're okay."

Another tall figure entered the room, and my mind began to clear enough to realize that Sam had come in. "Elda, here, drink some water," he urged me, holding a glass to my lips. I obeyed, and it only took a few minutes for the ringing in my ears to fade, for my senses to come back to me.

I looked at Cara, who was still perched on the edge of the bed. She held my hand in both of hers, looking at me with obvious concern. "Hey," she said in an attempt to be gentle, but she squeezed my hand so hard I thought she might break bones. "Hey," she repeated.

My face crumpled, but the tears didn't come. I didn't have any left to spill over my cheeks. So instead, I collided with my new friend, wrapping my arms around her neck and pulling her close. I counted her breaths as we stayed there, the numbers bringing me closer to reality. "I'm okay," I said, to convince all three of us. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay."

"Gave me a scare when you started screaming," Sam said, crossing his arms. "I haven't seen you get a nightmare since...well." He ducked his head and shoved his hands into his pockets.  _Since Cade died._

I shook my head. "I know. I don't know what..." I looked up at him, letting go of Cara in a moment of sudden clarity. "It's you," I said, no ill-will meant by it. " _You're_ the reason."

He stepped back, eyes wide and jaw slackened. "What?"

"Ever since you ran away and left me there," I ignored his flinch, "I guess I've been harboring the memories. And when I saw you again, it...it all came rushing back. It's  _you_."

Sam had never looked more heartbroken. "I'm so sorry, Elda, I didn't know—"

I interrupted him, shaking my head again. "You couldn't have." My voice grew soft again as I turned to Cara. "What color are the walls?" I asked her carefully.

She knitted her eyebrows and peered at the room. "They're ivory."

My chest deflated and I let out a breath. "They were red."

"What?"

"The walls," I said, clenching her hand. "The walls were red. They were bleeding."


	11. Just Getting Started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of act one! hope you enjoy!

"Okay, so here'sthe plan," Sam cleared his throat, spreading his hands on the kitchen table as Cara and I sat around it, staring at the piles of papers and maps and manila folders that littered the space.

I rubbed my eyes, having finally woken up from a long, dreamless sleep after the incident in the middle of the night. It was now late in the morning, and with talk of getting Steve back, every second felt like a waste. I had no idea what  _plan_ Sam had come up with after two days of sitting around in his parents' house, but I was desperate to hear it. Time was running out to save Bucky, and though we had no idea where he was, I could feel it. I could feel the clamp on Bucky's lifeline closing.

Cara inched her hand closer to mine on the table, but didn't touch me. Ever since last night, she'd gone back to being her normal self, still very against any physical contact. But this action let me know that she was trying. It was so similar to Bucky that it pained me. "Hey," she hummed softly, "are you okay to do this?"

My eyes met hers, and the concern in their depths were enough to make me smile reassuringly at her. "I'm fine," I said, though my voice wavered. "I'll be okay. I'm just nervous." When I lifted my head, I meant to look at Sam but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Everything in my head was backwards now. I couldn't look at him without seeing him leave.

"Elda, we're really gonna need you on this one," Sam said. His voice was deep as usual, but it held a certain authority that made me grit my teeth. It was like he didn't care what he put me through.

 _But that's for another time_ , I reminded myself bitterly.  _Deal with him after you get Steve back._

I nodded briskly, lips pursed. "Yeah, I can do it," I said again. "What do you need me to do?"

He sighed, rifling through the papers on the table. "Okay, I've been going over it in my head for the last few days and I think I've got an idea." Sam looked up at me and I had to fight to keep myself from spitting in his face at the pitiful look he gave me. "Elda, you're going to turn yourself in to the CIA."

I blanched. "I'm going to  _what_?"

Cara scoffed. "Not happening. We just got away from their asses, you're telling me she's gonna give herself up, just like that?" She leaned back and crossed her arms, a cruel smirk on her lips. "Come on, Sam, you can't seriously expect her to go back right after she got out of there."

He ignored us, much to our dismay. "You're going to be our distraction. You're going to walk right up to the front doors and surrender yourself to the officers there." He circled a point on a sheet of paper that revealed a birds-eye view of what looked to be the headquarters of the CIA. "Then you're going to ask to see Everett Ross."

I scowled. "You're telling me I've got to talk to the guy that covered up my brother's death?  _Again_?" I ducked my head and sank into a chair at the table, resting my elbows on the wood.

"I know it's hard for you—"

 _Yeah, right_.

"—but we need to have you as our distraction. You've been put on the  _news_ , El. They're going to be all hands on deck if you turn yourself in." He sighed. "Do anything you can to keep them by you. The kid and I are gonna need it."

Cara clicked her tongue and drawled, "I'm twenty-four years old, Sam. I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me a kid."

"Yeah. Sorry." He reached behind him to grab a permanent marker from the counter, marking a spot on the rear side of the building. "This is where you and I are going to go in, Cara."

I frowned. "What about guards? I mean, we're not planning on  _killing_ anyone, are we?"

That was the wrong choice of words. I clenched my hands into fists, feeling the wood of Cade's baseball bat in my grip, the end of it splattered with blood after I lobbed it right on the head of one of those thugs. Swallowing roughly, I tried my best to see the table in front of me instead of the grass at my feet, trampled by the boots of a dozen men that I didn't know.

"Elda." My name cut through my thoughts. I blinked furiously and saw Sam's figure blend into view. "Elda."

"I don't think we should do this," Cara decided with a clear tone, "she's clearly not in the right mind to do it."

But I shook my head and clasped my hands together, swallowing the memory of metallic blood. "I'm just fine," I insisted, a bite to my voice this time. "I'm serious. I can do this."

"Anytime you want to quit, you can," Sam reassured me, reaching out to touch a hand to my shoulder. I moved away before he could follow through, relishing in the look of betrayal that crossed his face. "But it needs to be before we put the plan in action. After that, it's too late."

I nodded. "I know." My eyebrows were raised as I waited for them to continue talking. "Well?" I asked expectantly. "What's the rest of your glorious plan?"

He looked unsure of himself. "Um..."

Cara cleared her throat. "I think I can help with this," she said. "I mean, I've been trying to get a job at the CIA for the last few years."

Sam and I arched an eyebrow in question. "I hate to break it to you, Cara, but it sounds like you're never gonna get a job there," he said. "Not anymore."

Our friend waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know," she replied. "But at least I'll be able to use my knowledge."

* * *

 

It was the next day. Cara had completed the plan of ours, and we'd waited until the following morning to set off in our stolen vehicle, driving hours upon hours all the way back to the place I'd begun all of this.

It turned out Sam had some old things from his stay in Wakanda that would turn out to be help. He'd held up a small, circular device with a smile. "This is one of Wakanda's doohickeys. Got it from Princess Shuri herself." He set it on the table and crossed his arms. "It'll freeze the pictures on the security cameras and allow us to get in unnoticed." He'd shrugged. "All we'll have to do is punch our way to the records room."

At first, I was confused. "Aren't we doing this so we can get Steve back?" I'd asked.

"Well, yeah, but it's not like he's actually in the building," Cara had responded with an air of  _duh, you didn't know?_ "This is a trip to collect intelligence. Don't expect to find anything too exciting other than a vague location."

I'd sunk down in my seat again. "Oh."  _This is taking too long._

But there we were, getting closer and closer to the drop spot for our vehicle. From there, we would split up. I would make my way to the front doors, turning myself over to the mercies of the CIA, and my two companions would sneak around to the back and find their way inside so they might have a chance at finding where Steve was being held.

"Ready?" Sam asked after putting the car into park and cutting the engine. "There's no going back now."

I glared at him. "I know," I said sharply, "you keep telling me that. Like I'm going to chicken out and get scared. I want to get Bucky back. By any means necessary."

"Yeah, but do you know what that really means—"

"I know  _damn_ well what that means," I snarled. "Stop treating me like a kid."

Cara patted me on the back. "I know what that feels like, El," she sighed, "and it sucks." She turned to Sam, adjusting her shirt. "You know," she added, "I really wish we had some sort of firepower besides this." She lifted her shirt to flash the handle of their only gun, the same one that had shot out the tires of four vehicles on the night the two girls escaped Wretton's grasp.

Sam shrugged. "I know. There was an incident near the border of Kansas and Missouri that forced me to leave everything behind." He grinned. "Here's to hoping you still know how to throw a punch."

"Please," she scoffed, "I'll be just fine."

I inhaled a deep breath and stared at the large building that was only a few blocks away from where we were. "Okay," I said, my mind cleared, "I'm good if you guys are."

Just one affirmative nod was all I needed to begin my way to the front of the CIA headquarters, where I would surely be seized upon arrival and taken to see Ross.

 _That's exactly how we want it to go_ , I reminded myself.  _That's the whole plan. Distract Ross and the others so they can get inside and find some intel._

My feet scuffed the ground as I shuffled my way to the building, my steps feeling heavier with every inch. I cleared my throat and brushed my hair away from my face. If I was going to act the part of a fugitive turning herself in, I was going to act it with the highest confidence I'd ever had.

I'd hardly stepped inside the doors before all eyes were on me, a spectacle in a lobby full of professionally dressed men and women. I held my head high and raised my hands above my head, walking carefully forward as about seven officers rushed at me and created a circular barrier around me. I wasn't sure if it was for protecting me or protecting them.

My hands were jerked from their position in the air, my wrists crossed forcefully behind my back. I felt the cool metal of handcuffs begin to squeeze my joints painfully, and I bit my tongue despite the urge to let out a few choice words with these assholes.

"I'm turning myself in," I tried to explain, though it was hard to do while they dragged me further into the building, heading for—well, I had no idea what. "I'm surrendering. I don't want any trouble."

"Yeah?" One of them, a rather young man, said gruffly. "Then why'd you run?" He peered deeply at me. "Where are your friends, Miss Reid?"

"That's enough,  _thank you_. You can let her go. And for God's sake, get her out of those handcuffs."

I never thought I'd be relieved to hear Everett Ross's voice. He stood atop the center staircase, hands on his hips and his eyes dark with a mild fury.

"Nice to see you again, Elda," he said, meeting me down at the bottom of the steps. "Tell me, what made you change your mind?" He gave the officer behind me a hard look that finally had him unlocking the handcuffs.

Rubbing my wrists, I shrugged. "I don't want to be that kind of person. The woman that took me, she wanted me to help her find Bucky. But I didn't want to become a fugitive while doing it."

To the left of Ross stood my personal bodyguard from the week before, Agent Wretton. He inclined his head as a way of greeting.

I blushed deeply, embarrassed for running away despite his affiliation with the people that killed my brother. "I'm here to clear my name," I said, "but first I would like to talk to you about..." I looked around at the strangers surrounding me. "More  _sensitive_ topics."

Ross narrowed his eyes at me, giving me a once-over. He was probably trying to figure out if I was lying. I gulped. But only a few seconds later, he blinked, nodding once. "Let her go," he told the officers around me. "She's fine. She'll walk with me."

The suited men and women left my side, though I could feel their eyes lingering as I walked with Ross and Wretton on our way to a private location.

I could only hope that Sam and Cara were being smart in all of this madness. Pray that they made their way to the records room without getting caught.

"Wait here," Ross instructed Wretton, leaving him outside the door to a conference room. "Don't come in unless I personally tell you to."

Wretton nodded, taking station outside the door. "Yes, sir."

"So," Ross started, holding the door open for me, "what is it you wanted to talk about? I've got a few things on my mind I'd like to say, too, you know."

I rolled my eyes as I sat down in a chair. "Yeah, I'm sure you do." He stood across the table from me, waiting for me to speak. I opened my mouth several times, but I couldn't find the right words to say. Finally, I said, "I want to see my brother's file."

Ross arched a brow. "That's all?"

My fists clenched. "Yes. I want to see the reports of my brother's death. I deserve some closure, don't you think?"

He paused, but then nodded. "I can have that arranged," he assured me, "but I have to warn you of its contents. It won't be...pleasant."

"Well, death doesn't happen to be pleasant most of the time," I said sardonically. "I'm twenty-seven years old," I added, "I can handle it. He's  _my_ brother."

He seemed hesitant. "I'm truly sorry about everything that's happened in the last few years. I'm sure the Agency hasn't left a good impression on you."

Scoffing, I put my feet on the table and crossed them at the ankles. "That's one way to put it."

Despite my goal to stall Ross and keep him occupied, I couldn't help feeling the hope of actually reading the reports that came after Cade's death. I'd been struggling to put it to rest for years now, all because my parents decided I was too fragile to handle it. But now, even though it was fake, I finally felt like I was reaching a place that I could call peace.

I had the opportunity to close one door in my muddled past.

"And everything with Barnes," he said, capturing my attention again, "it's all just a mess." He peered carefully at me before continuing, "I know he's important to you, Elda. He was important to Rogers, too. But look where he ended up."

Cocking my head, I decided to strike. "Where  _did_ he end up?" I had to fight to keep my voice steady.

Ross shook his head with an amused grin. "That's classified, Miss Reid. But," he held up a finger, "I'll tell you this: he's being treated like a human being. He's not going hungry, and he's not going to die where he is. We're just keeping him in our sights."

Before I could reply, the door clicked open. "Sir?" Wretton said, his voice unusually soft.

Ross closed his eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Wretton, what did I say?"

"I know, I'm sorry, sir, but—"

"Get your  _fucking_ hands off me!" It was a woman. A woman I knew.

It was Cara.

 _Dammit_ , I cursed inwardly,  _that can't have been nearly enough time to find anything_.

"Alright, alright, bring them in," Ross conceded, and sure enough, Cara was dragged in by her elbow, quite literally kicking and screaming, obscenities flying from her mouth like smoke from a train.

Sam, on the other hand, walked in of his own volition, his eyes dark as he yanked his arm out of the officer's grip and sat down beside me. He grabbed Cara's wrist and pulled her down, too, ignoring her protests.

"You're not sure where these two went, huh?" Ross smirked. "I have to say, I'm impressed by the sheer courage of you three. Trying to break into the CIA headquarters in broad daylight with nothing but...one gun?" He tilted his head at the weapon the officer was holding.

Cara snarled. "We've got some questions for you," she spat.

"Oh, really?" Ross sat down and held up his hands. "Alright, ask away."

"Where are they keeping Bucky?"

I furrowed my eyebrows at her bluntness. Surely she had to know that he wouldn't answer her, even if he knew anything.

Ross shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm afraid I can't disclose that information, Miss Jansen." He cocked an eyebrow. "I  _am_ sorry to see that you've gone from applying for a job here to breaking into our records room."

My eyes met Sam's, and I swallowed my pride as I searched for any information in their brown depths. He lifted his eyebrows, signalling that he had something to tell me, but I couldn't figure it out for the life of me.

"In your precious records room," Cara continued, "Sammy and I found a certain file labelled 'Hydra.' As you can imagine, things got pretty interesting when I saw that there was a new addition to it."

My ears perked. "Hydra?" I asked. "Isn't that—?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered.

Over the few days we'd stayed at the Wilson's, Sam had filled me in on anything I had questions on regarding Bucky's history. Since all I had about it was in a handwritten letter, I reached out to my childhood friend for answers.

"That new addition," Cara said, "was the announcement that the Nazi organization has finally fallen." She turned to look at Sam. "Now, why would  _you_  know such a thing?"

Ross began to look uncomfortable. We were onto him now, even though I had no idea what was going on. "I-I can't tell you any of this—"

"Cut the bullshit," Sam cut in, "we've already seen enough. Tell her what she wants to know."

Ross lifted his eyes to gaze at Wretton before nodding and answering, "Okay." He took a deep breath.

"And who the hell is  _Emile Boucher_?" Cara asked. Sam laid a hand on her arm to silence her.

"Emile Boucher," the man started, "is a former Hydra agent. She was a pretty influential person in the organization. Within the last year, she came to us, warning us that there was a rebellion in their midst."

"Why would she come to  _you_?" I asked.

"She began to realize that it was in her best interests to watch Hydra fall, and wait for the dust to clear. She didn't want a new group rising out of the ashes. So she reached out to the Agency in need of help." He sighed, looking down. "She knew that if someone rebelled inside of Hydra to create a new organization, it could only be worse than its predecessor."

Confusion lined my face. "Isn't the whole point of a rebellion to make something better than it was before?"

He nodded. "That's what she wanted. But she quickly fell out of trust with the rebels due to her high status in Hydra, and understood exactly what they were going to do." Ross paused. "They were going rogue."

 _Rogue_. A common word, but a word that sparked a memory in me. Hope fluttered through my veins. "Do you mean that—"

He nodded. "It's possible."

"So Bucky's back in the hands of Hydra?" Cara said, and my heart clenched when she said it, hope draining from my body.

Ross shook his head. "A rebel group that came from Hydra," he clarified.

"But Hydra-based," Sam insisted. He blew out a breath. " _Fuck_."

I raised my hand. "I have a question," I announced. "Why are you actually telling us this?" I mocked him as I added, "Isn't this  _confidential information_?"

Everett Ross clasped his hands in front of him and stood up. "In other circumstances, yes. But it seems that we have a common goal."

"And what's that?" Sam sneered.

"We both want to bring Barnes back on U.S. soil," he explained. "For different reasons, yes, but the general goal is the same." He pointed a finger at me. "That's why we need  _you_."

"Me?" I squinted. "Why me?"

"You are one of two people who can talk him down when he gets...dangerous."

Cara scoffed. "One of three, you mean," she said, pointing to herself. "I'm really good at talking to angry people."

Sam rolled his eyes. "There's a lot I disagree with in that statement, but I want to add myself to the list. You need all four of us. Cara, Elda, me,  _and_ Steve."

Ross nodded, as if he already knew this was coming. "You're right." He looked at Wretton before nodding again. "Fine."

"Fine?" I was still confused. "Sorry, what?"

"Rogers is yours." Ross crossed his arms and ignored the shock registering on our faces. "You four are the ones that will find Barnes and bring him in. But," he gestured at Wretton, who was standing by the door, "you're taking Wretton with you. And one more."

I turned to see Wretton give his superior a pointed look. "Sir?" he asked. "Who's accompanying us?"

The corners of his lips lifted, just barely. Just enough that I could see it. His eyes flicked towards the table as he hummed softly, "I'm sure you'll find someone."

He didn't give us any time to ask any more questions before clearing his throat. "Now, get out of my sight. I've sent for Rogers to meet you at a rendezvous point."

As we stood up and were led out of the headquarters with Wretton by our side, I had to blink a few times to wrap my head around it. Everything had gone wrong, but then it all turned around. With just a few words, Steve was ours. We'd succeeded.

But of course, the CIA was very fond of their leashes, and reeling people back into their midst. We weren't free, not really. Our leashes had loosened only a minor amount. We were still in their clutches, ready to be yanked back at any time.

Even so, I couldn't keep the smile off my face as I bumped elbows with Cara. We'd made it this far already, and we weren't going to give up yet. We were just getting started.


	12. Redemption and Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy the beginning of act two!

"I swear togod, Cara, you did  _not_ just call shotgun," I groaned as the three of us were led to the holding place for all of the CIA's vehicles. As I expected, they were all different models and sizes, but they were all the same jet black, silver lining their windows. The uniformity of it all was practically sickening. 

"What?" Cara held up her hands, her mouth hanging open and her eyebrows furrowed down. "Who knows how long it's gonna be before we get the dumbass back? I'm not sharing the backseat with you two." 

Sam stared blankly ahead, holding his hands in front of him as if they were still handcuffed. "I don't like this," he whispered to me, his head leaning down to keep his words as quiet as possible. "I don't like it at all."

I nodded. "I know. It's too fishy to be good news." I knew the CIA too well to trust any of their shenanigans. Whatever this was, they were just laying the noose around our necks. And when we finally did what they asked, they'd tighten the loop and strangle us. 

 _We've got a common goal_ , Ross had said. Only minutes ago, that was the beginning of the plan to save Bucky. 

Now, just a few moments later, I was cursing myself for ever agreeing with it. This wasn't a rescue mission. This was just Ross's way of using us to get to the so-called criminal that he was still entrusted to collect. 

They didn't know the real Bucky, and it was likely that they never would. Not like Sam, Cara, Steve, and I knew him. But then again, we were his only shot at redemption. If we failed, he'd never have any luck at becoming the person he wanted to be in this new age. He'd probably never live much longer if we failed. 

Gulping down my doubts, I followed Wretton to the large sedan that he climbed into, waiting for us to follow suit. When everyone was in, Cara in the passenger seat, Wretton turned around to look at us. 

"Okay," he said gruffly, though his voice was lacking any hostility, "here's how this is gonna go. I'm here to be your escort and your confidant. I will be your guide when you need assistance. You  _will not_ disobey any direct orders that I give you, or you will be placed under arrest and charged as fugitives of the law. I will be here the entire time to help bring Barnes in, and you will treat me with respect, just as I will do for you." His light eyes shifted between the three of us. "Is that clear?"

I nodded.  _He knows what the hell he's doing,_ I thought admiringly.  _I wonder if Cade was that good_. The thought pained me to run its course in my brain. 

"Whatever you say, Red," Cara smirked, putting her feet up on the dashboard. "You know, you'd be a really good coach for little league baseball. You've got the tone in the bag, but we'll have to work on your pep talk."

I could see Wretton raise an eyebrow in the rearview mirror, and I blushed when he connected eyes with me. "This one, too?" He asked me in a slight growl. 

Shrugging, I managed, "Couldn't help it, Red," with a small grin to top it off.  For a second I was afraid that he would scowl and throw a rude retort in my face, but then he just scoffed and started the engine, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street. 

Beside me, Sam leaned in again to whisper, "How do you know this guy?"

"I was her assigned bodyguard for a week," Wretton answered without a second glance at him, but for some reason I felt like he could see the shock that registered on Sam's face. "There's no reason to whisper," he said. "If we're going to work on this case together, there's got to be full disclosure. No secrets. Let's start with," he turned his head to stare at Cara, who was biting her nails, "how you managed to break into headquarters without anyone noticing right away."

Sam looked like he wanted to stop Cara from answering, but of course, no one could keep the young woman from talking once she opened her mouth. 

"Want to take notes, huh?" She asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Red, you don't strike me as the breaking-and-entering type."

"More like the analyzing-and-improving type," he replied easily. "I'm going to make sure nothing like that can ever happen again."

Cara scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Yeah, good luck with that. Sam got this weird device thing from his friends in—"

Sam made a coughing sound, but it did nothing to stop her. It's like I said, there was simply no stopping Cara once she got started. 

"—Wakanda. It froze the camera images so you couldn't see us when we went inside. Pretty clever, huh?" She turned around in her seat to smile at Sam. "You wanted to say something?"

I might have laughed at the look of hopeless shock on Sam's face if I didn't share it with him. He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Wakanda?" Wretton asked, and though I tried to listen for a note of suspicion, as if he were interrogating us, I only heard curiosity. "Isn't that one of the poorest countries in the world?"

Cara shrugged, unable to answer. "I guess it was imported or something. But it was pretty sick, don't you think? Anyway," she settled back into her seat with her feet on the dashboard, "we did our thing, punching our way through the guards—" she mimicked punching people— "and we got into the basement, cause everyone knows the records are kept in the lowest level."

Wretton's eyebrows arched at that.

"Sam used some unconscious guy's thumbprint to get access into the records room, and we knocked out the two chums in there. And then we were free to peruse the aisles of the most dangerous library in the world." She smiled. "That's when I found the file on Hydra, sitting out on the desk as they were adding information to it right then and there.

"But then, as you know, we were caught tan-handed—ha, get it?—and then we were brought up to the big bad conference room that El was talking to Ross in." She clasped her hands in front of her. "And that's it."

Wretton opened his mouth to ask questions, most of them about Wakanda and how we knew the records room even existed. Cara answered what she could, but I remained silent, as I didn't trust myself to keep the important stuff private. 

Of course, Sam showed his lack of support when he shut his eyes in an  _oh my god, I can't believe you just said that_ moment. 

After his questions died out, I zoned out, staring out the window and falling into my thoughts again. I pictured Bucky, strapped down somewhere in a foreign place, going through god knew what just because of the circumstances he was given. My eyes were dry, though; too many tears had been shed. I felt the pain, I felt every inch of its heart-splintering pain, but I couldn't show it. I supposed that was a good thing. I didn't want Sam or anyone doubting my ability to follow through with this job. I could do it. I just had to reign in my emotions. 

When I watched Wretton maneuver the car in and around the streets of Langley, Virginia, I felt as though I was watching my brother, an image of my brother at his dream job that I was never able to witness. A version of my brother that had been able to grow old in the field he was passionate about. But the reminder that I screwed all that up for him was enough to make the moment sour in my mouth, forcing me to look down at my feet. 

"Are you okay?" Sam asked me gently from beside me.

I sneered at him. "Oh, so  _now_ you care how I feel?" The hurt and the anger from when he left me in that yard rose up, ready for combat. 

"What?" He asked, confusion clear on his face.

"That's all you've been asking me for the last five days," I growled. "You  _left_ me. And now that I'm here again, you're taking the time to ask if I'm okay?"

Sam cowered back in his seat, leaning away from me. "You're still on about that?"

My hands clenched into fists, my vision tunneling so I could only see him and nothing else. Just wide, dark eyes that stared back at me. "Yeah, I'm still 'on about that,'" I mocked him, "you completely disregarded the fact that I'm just as involved in this shit as you are, and you made the decision  _for me_ when you took off running, never to see me again for the next year." My words dripped with venom and I reveled in the look of hurt that crossed his face. 

"I-I didn't mean to—I knew that Cara was coming—"

I swallowed back a bitter laugh. Was he seriously trying to defend himself right now? "So you get someone to  _babysit_ me, and then you just leave? That's a dick move, Wilson, and you know it." I pointed a finger at him, my lips turned down in a wicked snarl. "That's not the Sam that I spent my entire life looking up to. That's not the Sam that I helped during recovery after you came back from war. You're a coward, Sam Wilson." 

The way that he slunk back in his seat, ashamed to even look at me, gave me a strange sense of relief. We were both so stubborn that we rarely came to any conclusions together. Now that he was listening to me, it felt as though I'd broken through a wall that I'd spent years trying to tear down. 

I blinked, and the rest of the car filled into my peripheral vision, including the shocked gaze from Cara that made me shake my head jerkily. "Not now," I muttered. 

Across from me, Sam finally lifted his eyes, and I nearly laughed at the sight of tears in them. "Really?" I sneered. "Now you're gonna cry?"

He narrowed his eyes, inadvertently causing one lone tear to fall over onto his cheek. "It's my turn," he said lowly, voice gravelly. "You're right. I've been a coward."

His admission shocked me into silence.  _I'm right?_

"I've been too worried about saving myself and my own reputation that I haven't even bothered to think about the fact that you were just as rolled up in this mess as I was. That's why," he leaned forward, reaching a hand to touch mine, "that's why I've been asking you about it lately. I'm trying to make up for lost time, but..." he looked down. "Now I know that it was just insensitive."

I squeezed his hand, swallowing my frustration with him. This confession opened my eyes, allowing both of us to see the other's side of things. We were  _made_ to be best friends, it turned out. "It's not insensitive," I shook my head. "A little pathetic, yeah, but it's nice to know you finally pulled your head out of your ass." I smiled gently, watching as his face lit up with hope. I was seeing the Sam that I fell in love with all those years ago. "We'll be okay," I reassured him, "just never be a complete  _ass-wipe_ like that ever again. Understand?"

He cocked an eyebrow in amusement. "I'll add that to the list," he smirked, but his words were gentle. 

The way he pressed his thumb into the back of my hand no longer clenched my broken heart. It no longer reminded me that he would never feel the same way about me as I did about him. With a jolt, I realized what this meant. 

I was over him. He didn't hold any power over me anymore. And it was freeing, to hold my friend's hand and not feel the consequences of falling for a man that would never love me, because I  _did_ have someone who loved me the way I always wanted to be loved. I had Bucky. 

Bucky, who needed our help. 

"That was sweet," Cara interrupted my thoughts, and I swiveled my head to look at her bright eyes and wide smile. "For a second, El, I thought you were gonna go in for the kill. And Sam, I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so completely defeated. I thought you'd lean so far back that the car door would open and you'll fall out onto the road."

"Thanks so much for the commentary, kid," Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring the glare she gave him at the use of the childish nickname. "That totally  _wasn't_ a private conversation."

"Can I give you a tip for next time?" She asked, and spoke again before we could answer. "Talk in a private place for private conversations. It makes the whole thing  _way_ easier, and  _way_ less awkward. Don't you think, Red?" She patted the shoulder of our CIA escort playfully. 

Expecting a gruff response from the seemingly stone-faced agent, I was surprised to see a small grin curve his lips upward. "Yes, Miss Jansen," he said, keeping his eyes on the road, "I have to say I agree with you."

"Whatever," I scowled, "it's over and done with, anyway. You can enjoy your peace and quiet now." I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms, and staring out the window. 

Agent Wretton pulled into a parking lot, at what looked to be a public library, and put the car in park. "We're here," he said. "Look."

Near the edge of the building, coming around the corner and turning into the same parking lot, I saw a large, military-grade truck, its exterior a slate gray. It was shaped like a box, the hard edges used primarily for using force and providing protection in a war zone. 

"He's not a killer," Sam grumbled, "why the hell is he in  _that?_ "

"We took all precautions," Wretton explained. "He wasn't doing well in the accommodations we had set up for him beforehand, so we were forced to move him to a different, secure location."

"Which was?" I asked weakly, not expecting to get an answer. I didn't.

The truck parked next to ours, and the passenger door swung open to reveal a pudgy, gray-haired man that looked too tired to be transporting a supposed national criminal. He spoke a few words to Wretton, peering into the vehicle and eyeing us up. Before long, he nodded and went around to the back of his truck, opening the doors.

"Ready to see your friend?" Wretton asked. "Go ahead."

Sam was the first one out, too anxious and excited to stay in the car for a second longer. I followed him, and Cara got out slowly, biting her lip.

"Is it really that bad?" I asked her quietly as she tapped her foot on the pavement. "I mean, what happened between you two?"

She shook her head. "It's not the worst thing in the world, but it's enough to make me steer clear of the guy for the last seven years." She jutted out a hip and gave off the air of bored confidence. 

"He'll never know you're nervous," I laid a gentle hand on her back in support. "You're a fucking badass, Cara," I whispered in her ear.

My new friend nodded sharply. "Hell yeah I am," she replied. 

Sam blew out a quick breath and dropped his arms to his side as he laid eyes on Steve. But it took me a second to recognize him. I knew it was the man who'd taken up the patriotic moniker in the forties, but he looked so different. 

His hair was long, darker than I remember it being, and his beard had fully grown, covering the lower half of his face in a dark scruff that made him look even more ragged. When he lifted his eyes, I saw the blue depths and nearly cried. Captain America—no,  _Steve Rogers_ —was broken. Defeated. And it wrenched my heart out. 

"Sam," he breathed, and launched himself at his friend, clutching onto him as if for dear life. It was as if he felt like he would lose us if he let go. "Sam," he repeated.

"Hey, man," Sam replied, tucking his head into the crook of his shoulder, Steve doing the same. They stood there for a while, just holding each other, shocked to finally be together. "You reek," he chuckled.

"Yeah," Steve scoffed, pulling away from him, "I know." He stared at him. "I...I had no idea that you were gonna be here," he said, his voice soft, "I thought they were just moving me to a new facility." The wonder in his voice, the utter  _hope_ now that he'd been reunited with us, was enough to make me feel a lump form in my throat. 

Steve shifted his gaze from Sam and looked at me, a smile widening his mouth. "Hey," he said gently, walking towards me, "Hey, Elda."

I was flattered that he was so grateful to see me, as we'd hardly spoken to each other since all this started. "Hi," I greeted, opening my arms as he walked right into them. "Are you okay?" I asked, holding the much larger man against me, holding him up on his feet.

He nodded, looking at me again in relief. "I'm good," he reassured me. "I'm  _so_ good." His gaze shifted from mine again as he registered another person behind me. He furrowed his eyebrows, disbelief clouding his face. "C _-Cara?_ " 

She gave him a short wave. "Don't look too surprised to see me," she said, and I knew the words were meant to have an edge to them, but they were quiet and spoken gently. "You were the one that called me to go get her."

Steve nodded again, extricating himself from my arms and making a move towards Cara. "Yeah, I know, it's just..." he sighed, and something else crossed his face. "It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, I guess," Cara shrugged, her words uncertain. She held up a hand to her own chin, gesturing to his beard. "Well, you certainly changed your look."

He let out a breathless chuckle. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "As much as I'd love to watch this soap opera," he groaned, "stop staring at each other and get in the car. We've got a job to do."

Wretton nodded. "He's right. We've got to get on the road. We're making one more stop." He said a few more words to the officer from the other truck and then got back into our vehicle. 

When we were all packed in, Cara insisting on the passenger seat again, with my sitting in the middle of Sam and Steve on either side, I let out a sigh. "It's like one giant road trip," I said to no one in particular.

"Yeah, and it's gonna be a damn good one when we get Buckaroo back," Cara said cheerfully.

As Cara and Sam filled Steve in regarding the events of the last few months, I slipped into my own thoughts again. We had everyone. We had everything we needed. Now we could focus on the job at hand. 

Seeing Sam reunite with Steve had only reminded me of Bucky. I couldn't describe how much I wanted to see him again, how much I wanted to hold him. I'd been losing my mind for the last few months, and it was all because of him. Finally, we were going to save him from whatever assholes decided to fuck with his life again. We were going to redeem him. And he would bring me peace of mind, once and for all. I could hardly function without him here.

We were his redemption, but he was my salvation. 


	13. Soon Enough

Steve spent thenext hour or so staring down at his hands despite the landscape passing by him outside the window. His normally striking blue eyes were downcast, the sparkle in their charismatic depths gone from sight. "How did you find me?" He asked softly, keeping his voice down so as to keep Wretton from hearing.

"Believe it or not," Sam cleared his throat, "it happened on accident." When he received the expected look of confusion, he added, "Elda struck a deal with Everett Ross."

He jerked his head to look at me, where I was hiding my blush. "But...you can't make deals with the CIA."

I shrugged. "I wouldn't call it a  _deal_ ," I explained, "and it wasn't even  _my_ doing. Ross came up with it. He said that since we both want to bring Bucky back to the US, he'd offer his services to help it happen." I gestured to Wretton, who lifted a hand to wave.

He shrunk in his seat, and I could only guess that he looked exactly like he did before he received the super soldier serum all those years ago. He was curling back into himself, returning to the person he used to be before all this shit happened to him.

It reminded me of Bucky, and I had to look away before I felt the tears roll to the surface.

Steve shrugged, accepting it. But then he nudged Sam and whispered, "The CIA wants to take Bucky in and lock him away for good. You guys are idiots if you think this is gonna work."

Thankfully, Cara stepped in and decided to answer, despite whatever feud, or weird friendship  _thing_ they had going on. "Hey, Captain Crunch," she said in a dry tone, "don't worry about it. We know what we're doing. And if that means tying up Agent Red somewhere on a deserted island and leaving him for dead, then we'll just have to make that sacrifice." She glanced at Wretton with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Red."

I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that we had a CIA agent, directly connected to Ross, that was driving us to our desired location, wherever that was. According to him, we still had to meet up with one other agent.

As the hours went on with no rest, I became more and more afraid that all he was doing was driving us to a federal prison on a long lost island somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle, leaving us where we would never be able to find Bucky.

Wretton waved a dismissive hand, slowing for a red light. "No offense taken, Cara," he sighed, making me raise an eyebrow at his relaxed tone and the use of Cara's first name. "I knew you guys would never trust me."

"You want to lock Bucky in a cage," Sam argued, and Steve grunted in agreement.

"He's not an animal," I voiced my opinion. "He's a human being, and a tired one at that. If you think he  _likes_ doing this, that he  _likes_ being used by other people for mass destruction, you're a complete asshole. It's not his fault that Hydra but his brain in a blender." My voice had begun to get progressively louder and I was leaning forward, but I only noticed it when Sam pressed a hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me back into my seat.

Our driver nodded. "I know. But you have to understand, not everyone at the CIA is a robotic, emotionless prick."

" _You_  are," Cara interrupted pointedly.

But the look Wretton gave me in the rear view mirror made me think otherwise, even if it did strike me as odd for him to look directly at me. "I'm hoping with the next few weeks, or however long this takes, that you will begin to understand that I'm not. I've been in the Agency for years, and after awhile, you begin to pick up on some things. Like regaining the humanity I lost for longer than I care to remember."

Sam adjusted in his seat. "Don't play the pity card, man, it's not gonna change anything. We want Bucky free, you don't."

"You over-generalize everything," he insisted. "You never look at the little details."

The car fell silent. Steve had gone into his own thoughts, Sam looked at his hands in confusion, Cara was tapping her fingers on her knees and probably zoning out already, but I just stared at the back of Wretton's head. What he'd said struck a chord with me, but I wasn't sure I really trusted my mind to figure out why.

* * *

 

We'd been on our tense little road trip for nearly five hours, headed to a place that Wretton refused to disclose, no matter how much Cara tried to trick him.

"Fine," she huffed at some point, loud enough that it jerked Sam and I awake from our light and uneasy dozes. "If you won't tell us where we're going, then I'm just gonna talk your ear off." It was such a  _Cara_ thing to do that in anybody else's mind outside of this car, it might have been viewed as childish.

Wretton looked as if he wanted to smash his head into the steering wheel. "Haven't you been doing that for the last five hours?" He asked, audibly exhausted. "I'm sure a nap would do a lot of good, for you and me both."

She gave him a dry laugh. "Yeah, good try, Red. Why don't you start talking and answer some questions we have?"

"We have questions?" I mumbled, my voice rumbling out of my chest lowly. "Since when?"

Cara whirled her head to me and hissed, "You know, questions about  _Hydra?_ "

I blinked to keep my eyes open, stretching as much as I could in the seat. "Oh, I've got one," I announced, and Sam chuckled. "Do we have a rest stop coming up? A girl's gotta pee, and I'm supposed to be getting my period soon, so I might want to buy some tampons."

Sam was used to my openness about my menstrual cycle, so he just rolled his eyes, much like Cara did. Steve and Wretton, on the other hand, we not so accustomed to this kind of talking. Steve shifted uncomfortably, shooting me a wide-eyed look of concern, and Wretton visibly gripped the steering wheel tighter, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Uh, there's one in the next...fifteen minutes?" He estimated. "Everyone can get out and stretch, and you can get your...supplies."

I nodded. "Much appreciated, Red." Instead of a scowl, there was a small grin of amusement that graced his face.

"Not quite the kind of questions I was hoping for, Elda," Cara drawled, putting her feet on the dashboard again. "Whatever, it looks like I'll have to do everything myself.  _Again_."

Sam cut in. "What else is in that file about Hydra?" He asked tentatively. He didn't expect to get an answer in return.

He didn't. "That's classified," Wretton answered as if reading from a script.

"And you say you're not a robotic, emotionless prick?" Cara snickered. "Yeah, right."

Wretton shook his head, opening and closing his mouth a few times before announcing, "Oh, screw all." He reached up a hand to loosen the tie around his neck that seemed to be suffocating him. Once it was loose enough for his comfort, he started talking again. "It's not that I can't tell you—well, I can't—but it's more about the fact that I don't know anything about that file."

"What?" I said in disbelief. "Bullshit."

He shook his head. "Honest. Not one agent or officer knows everything about everything that's going on in the CIA. I only know the pieces of information that I'm given and that are needed to complete the task I'm assigned to."

I was confused, and didn't mind showing it. "But if you're assigned with getting Bucky back, shouldn't you have that information? We clearly don't have it, and we have no way of getting it unless someone with the CIA lets us in on your secrets."

"I'm telling you the truth.  _I_ don't know anything else about the Hydra file besides what Ross told you when I was in the room." He turned on his blinker and proceeded to go up a ramp that led to a rest stop. "If it isn't clear by now, I'm taking you to someone who  _does_ know more about the situation. They might be able to help us." He stopped the car and turned to face us. "I'm going to go to the bathroom, and I'm trusting you guys not to steal the car and go it alone for the rest of this. It wouldn't be wise, with the information I just told you."

" _That_ was information?" Cara grumbled, opening the car door and stepping out onto the pavement. "You need to work on your definition of valuable information, Red."

I opened the door and felt my muscles pull as I was finally able to stretch out my legs, standing on shaky feet. "I'll be right back," I told the group, trailing Wretton until I got to the women's restroom. I picked up a box to tampons just in case, and went back outside to see Steve looking a little bit more like himself, fortunately.

His shoulders were back and his chest was forward with the usual air of confidence that followed him around. "How much longer?" He asked Wretton when he came back, keeping his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Only a few more hours," he said, adjusting the shirt he'd changed into. He tossed his folded suit and tie(a most questionable decision, but whatever) in the trunk. "But don't worry. It'll be well worth it."

Cara groaned. "I changed my mind. I want something to eat. Want something, boys?" She asked, eyeing Steve warily. They both nodded and the three of them went in together, looking like a lost band of friends that had spent years apart. Well, I supposed that's  _exactly_ what they were.

I took a spot beside Wretton, leaning against the car. "You really don't know anything?"

He gave me a sidelong glance, that said,  _seriously?_  "I'm telling the truth, Miss Reid. I don't know anything else. We'd practically be going in blind, if Director Ross hadn't given me the tip to meet up with our new assistance."

"Oh," I nodded, though I was no less anxious. "Alright. What's this mysterious person's name?" One look from him made me regret asking. "Fine, whatever," I rolled my eyes, "it's  _classified._ "

The silence laid its curtain over us for a few moments before Wretton spoke up, though softly. "I wish I could have..." he began, but trailed off in uncertainty. "I wish I knew the kind of love you have with Barnes," he said, looking at the ground beneath his feet. "To believe so strongly in someone so broken that you fail to see any other side of history that tells you he's doomed."

I chose not to comment on the fact that he was basically telling me that this rescue mission was for naught. Instead, I asked, "Why don't you? I mean, why don't you have that kind of love?" I gave him a once-over. He was at the age where kids could have easily been in the picture, along with a happy wife and perhaps even a dog.

But the sad look that fell on his face answered my question. "I could have," he admitted. "But I gave it all up for this job. I love the work more than I loved people." He shifted his feet. "Asking myself to make that choice had been the easiest thing I'd done. But that was almost thirty years ago." He lifted his head to look at me when he added, "Ask me that same question today, and it'd be a lot harder to answer."

"I wish my brother could have had that." It surprised even me, the words blurting out of my mouth before I could herd them in and swallow them back down, locking them in the box that held all the things I'll never say out loud.

Wretton peered at me, his eyes narrowed in question. "You brother. What was his name?"

My voice was quiet as I answered, "Cade." It felt as though I was selling his memory to some random stranger on the street.

"Ah, yes," he nodded inquisitively, "the Reid boy. He was good at his job.  _Very_ good."

I noticed our three companions walking out of the rest stop, Cara's hands full with bags of whatever junk food she decided to buy(with what money, I wasn't sure). Quickly, I asked, "What did he do? I never got to read the reports."

My former guard frowned. "You know I can't tell you that, Elda."

A sigh left my lips, and I stood up straight to open the door and get back in the car. "Right. Sorry. It was worth a try, I guess." I climbed into the vehicle and buckled my seat belt, waiting for Sam, Cara, and Steve to get back in.

Wretton followed suit, starting up the engine. He turned around to look at me, but then decided against it and kept his eyes trained on the arm rest of his seat as he said, "I'm sure, you'll get answers soon enough."

Cara whistled as she opened the door and clambered into her seat. "Look what I found," she hummed, holding up a large bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. She pointed to the image on the bag that depicted the one and only Iron Man. " _This_ is what I call valuable," she said to Wretton, who cocked a lazy eyebrow.

"I don't want any," Steve said dully, taking a sip of the drink he'd bought in the store.

If it was even possible, Cara rolled her eyes so far that I could only see the whites of her eyes. "You're kidding, right?" She groaned. "It's a fucking Doritos bag, and you can't even eat them 'cause it's got a picture of your ex-boyfriend on it?"

"He's not my—" He said sharply.

"Oh, whatever, Uncle Sam," Cara shrugged, "that whole situation was a breakup, and you know it."

He grumbled in his seat and ignored her comments, though I caught him staring at the back of her head with a sort of wonder in his eyes at times. It seemed that whatever happened to those two was still very much on Steve's mind.

As the car began moving again, and I gratefully accepted some food from Sam beside me, I felt myself slipping into my thoughts again, as I began to do more and more often. I wanted answers for so many different things, and even though Wretton seemed positive I would get them, I wasn't sure it was possible for anyone to answer that many questions. I was positive that I would never get the answers I craved. Not for a long time, at least.


	14. Answers

He was noone, nothing. He was put on this planet for one reason, and that was to do the job he was tasked with. To obey his superiors and follow every direction they gave him. No matter the consequences, he was to succeed. He was to become the ghost he'd been once before. 

 _Very good, Soldier,_ the voice in his head smiled.  _You're proving me right._

He grunted in his seat, tightening his grip on the firearm in his hands. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to center his thoughts as he felt the phantom caress of the woman in his head, grazing his cheek with her thin, calloused hands. 

 _Don't fight it,_ she chided seductively,  _embrace it. Embrace_ me.  _We're in this together, Soldier._

The lick of curiosity that washed through his brain was unable to be stopped. He couldn't hide his thoughts from this voice, from this woman that was an authoritative voice in his head.  _Together_ , he thought hesitantly, testing out the sound of it in his mind's space. 

 _Yes,_ she agreed, now making him feel as though she was standing in front of him with a sly smirk across her lips.  _Everyone else thought it was too soon to put you in the field. They wanted to keep you asleep for decades, possibly even a century before using you again. They wanted everyone to forget about you, but_ I  _stood up for you._ Me.  _I told them it would be a downright shame for you to go unused for so long._

 _I told them you were strong enough, and now you have the chance to prove me right._ The phantom version of the woman in his head patted him on the shoulder.  _Show them how strong you are, Soldier. Make me proud. Make Asset 53 proud._

He nodded, blinking to clear his head. It felt like he had two voices in his head, one that was ordering him around, and another that sounded like himself, locked away in the deepest corners of his mind. 

 _Break free,_ it chanted, screaming louder and louder with each passing second,  _break free! GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE! YOUR NAME IS_ —

But the woman always silenced it with a swift sentence.  _Clear your head, Soldier,_ she always said.  _Let me be the only thing in your head. It will make all of this so much easier._

He inhaled a deep breath of the cold air that surrounded him, shocking him back to reality. He opened his eyes and observed the walls around him, a barred window on his right that displayed an image of the landscape outside that rushed by, his body bouncing with the bumpy road that the vehicle was driving along. 

That small square near him was the only hint to where he was, as he spotted the edge of a bluff that went hurtling into a raging body of water, the most striking blue that he thought he'd ever seen. Even in the darkness, he could feel the absolutely incredible scale of the natural beauty in a place he didn't recognize. 

_Knowing your location will only distract you from the mission, Soldier. You came here to do a job, not to be a tourist._

His jaw clenched and he stared forward at the gray slab of metal that closed him into the jostling mode of transportation.  _I am nothing, no one,_ he began to repeat in his head, like a mantra. It centered his mind, calling him back to the job he had to complete. 

The weapon in his hands felt heavy, so he reached instinctively for the knife in the holster strapped to his thigh. It slid out with a slight metallic ring, glinting in the moonlight. It was light, perfectly balanced as he held it in his palm. 

The woman in his head, Asset 53, smiled.  _I see you still prefer to savor the kill rather than make it an execution,_ she hummed in approval.  _Just like me, Soldier. We're still alike, you see. It's like nothing's changed._

The vehicle stopped in front of a large house that blocked his path with a wooden gate. Easily scaling it, he planted his feet on the ground and glided towards the front door. 

 _STOP!_ The familiar voice in his head screamed, thrashing around,  _STOP IT! THIS ISN'T YOU! What about Steve, what about Sam, what about Elda? They're your family!_

"They are no one," he recited aloud under his breath. "Just as I am no one." He couldn't keep his steps from faltering though, scuffing on the pavement as he paused and looked back toward the gate.  _Get out of there,_ the voice reminded him.  _Go. Now._

 _That's it, Soldier. Don't worry, you won't have to fight your demons for long. After this, we'll get you properly prepared for your future as one of the organization's most valuable assets._ The woman laid a hand on his lower back, pushing him forward. 

He swallowed back the doubts in his head and sauntered up the steps, clutching his knife in his hand. He was here to complete a mission, to finish a job. Nothing more. He was no one, nothing. 

 _There you go,_ Asset 53 whispered in his ear, the words caressing his cheek.  _Good job. Just like that._

 _Long live the cause,_ he said in his head as he carefully picked the lock.  _Long live Cerberus._

* * *

 

It was starting to become unbearable. The hours we spent in the car, cramped in the back seat with two grown men, it was all getting old. I was sore, hungry, and getting increasingly annoyed with Wretton's complete refusal to make another stop for food or bathroom breaks. 

"We've got a half hour left," he kept saying for the last hour, "it's not long now. We'll be there when the sun rises."

Oh, yeah. We were literally driving  _through the night_ , alone on the highways as Wretton tried to get us to our mysterious destination on time. I was curious to find out who this person was and how they knew so much about our situation, but I also wanted to get out of this damned car so I could teach my legs how to walk again. 

Steve scowled as Sam inhaled, turning over in his seat and dropping his head onto his shoulder. It was how  _we_  used to do things, before he went off to war. Seeing him act so domestically with Steve was both jealousy-inducing and relieving. I was glad that he'd found someone he could trust, someone he was comfortable to do anything with. 

I chuckled at Steve's expression, his face just barely visible in the darkness. "Get used to it," I advised him. "Once you let him do it the first time, he'll never stop."

Somewhere back in Indiana, we'd switched spots, as Sam wanted to have the window seat. So in the middle of the night, I now sat next to Steve, who'd begun to sit up straighter, not quite as shy when it came to looking at me. 

He shook his head gently, rolling his eyes. "He already does stuff like this all the time," he grumbled softly. "You'd think a military veteran would be a little more..." he shrugged. " _Poised,_ I guess? Professional?"

Cocking an eyebrow, I replied, "Well, Sam's lots of things, but I'd have to say that poised and professional are things that he struggles to maintain on an everyday basis." I grinned at him mischievously. 

With Wretton staring at the road in front of us(no doubt listening to every word we said), and Cara softly snoring in the passenger seat, I decided it was as good a time as any to get the answers I'd been craving for so long. "So," I started, not sure where to begin. 

He glanced at me, waiting. "Yeah?"

I picked at a hangnail on my finger as I asked, "Why don't you use your nickname? I mean, why don't you answer to  _Captain America_ anymore?"

He was quiet for a second, gathering his thoughts. I began to worry that he didn't want to answer, so I opened my mouth to apologize profusely when he breathed, "For Bucky."

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously, knowing I was treading on dangerous territory. "I know that the Avengers had a falling out, but what does that have to do with Bucky?"

Steve sighed, eyeing Wretton to make sure he wasn't listening before continuing, "I gave everything up for him. When Tony and I fought in Siberia—" he glanced at me to make sure I knew what he was talking about— "he made it sound like I had to choose between keeping Bucky safe and remaining the face for freedom and equality. So I dropped the shield, therefore losing the moniker."

I frowned. "But isn't that kind of dramatic? I mean, the Accords basically said that he government would lock Bucky up forever, right?" When he nodded, I kept going, "So why would he make you drop the shield if all you wanted to do was protect your friend?"

He shrugged. "He didn't understand Bucky's situation. He didn't get it. So he chose the side he believed in the most. I don't blame him," he added gently into the silen car. 

"Well," I said, "I'm going to be honest. I'm just happy you didn't drop it just because you were being emo like Bucky was about it hair."

Steve stared at me with confusion in his blue eyes. "Emo? His hair?"

I nodded. "He tried to keep me from cutting his hair, but it was so long and shaggy that it was starting to get close to  _my_ hair length, and I don't want to date someone that looks exactly like me, so I sat him down and chopped off a few inches. Nothing harmful, just cleaned up his edges. You wouldn't believe how anal he was about it though. Said he couldn't go back to the person he was before all the shit with Hydra happened." I looked at him apologetically. "Sorry. That was a lot."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "He and I are just like that, I guess." He glanced at Sam before starting again. "Elda, can I tell you something? It's been bothering me ever since 1945, I think."

"Yeah, of course."

He found my eyes in the moonlit car and leaned in to whisper in my ear. "Bucky never wanted this," he said, his voice breaking. 

I nodded. "I know," I said, "no one  _wants this_ shit to happen. It just does."

"No, that's not what I mean." He shook his head. "Bucky never even wanted to go to war. It was his patriotic duty at the time. Every able-bodied man that passed the age requirements was being shipped off to fight a war that would end all wars. That..." he paused, his voice shaking. "That was  _my_ dream.  _I_ wanted to be a soldier in the United States army. I found a way, yes, but it never would have stopped Bucky from being enlisted."

"Oh." I swallowed the growing lump in my throat. 

"Yeah," he nodded. "He wanted to live a normal life in Brooklyn, he wanted to marry a pretty dame and have a whole litter of kids. He acted like he just wanted to have sex with them, but that wasn't who he really was." He looked down at his hands. "He was  _good_. He just wanted to be  _happy_."

I wasn't really sure what to say to that, since I agreed with it all. I'd never felt such a desire to make someone happy in my life, and it pained me to see that he could have had all that, nearly eighty years ago when he was just a young man with big dreams. I reached across my lap and clutched onto Steve's hand, squeezing it tightly. 

"I would have dropped the shield a million times again," he said softly, and I was sure there were tears in his eyes, though I couldn't bring myself to look. "When someone who's taken care of you your whole life goes through something as traumatic as that, it's...it's nice to finally be able to give back to them." He met my eyes, his blue depths lined with tears that threatened to spill over. Sniffing and wiping them with one hand, he whispered, "I'm so grateful for you, Elda. I never got the chance to really tell you that."

I flushed in the darkness and shook my head. "I never did anything."

He grasped my hand tighter and gazed into my eyes as he told me firmly, "You gave him everything I never could. You gave him what he truly wanted all those years ago. You  _loved_ him, Elda. Loved him in a way I would never be able to. And I thank you for that."

Tears carved a cavern down my cheeks, and my voice cracked over the words as I said them. "Promise me we'll get him back. Promise me he'll come back to us."

He nodded firmly. "We always do. We'll get him back, and this time, he'll stay with us."

I closed my eyes and let Steve's words reverberate around my head for the last stretch of the trip. My mind was otherwise empty, and I needed to feel something other than this worthless sense of being out of time. 

The sun rose rather quickly, and I only looked out the window when Wretton turned the car onto an uneven road. It was gravel, I realized as we got closer and closer to a dense forest that surrounded the trail. 

I hadn't been here in over a year, but the feeling of familiarity that I got when I recognized the driveway leading to my house was powerful enough to stop a train. "Why are we here?" I asked, sitting up straight, anxiety racking my limbs. 

Wretton didn't answer. Just kept driving. 

Sam, who'd woken up only a few minutes ago, knitted his eyebrows. "What the hell?" He groaned in a rumbling voice. 

"Where are we?" Cara asked, waking up from her own bout of sleep. "What is this place?"

I answered her in awe, "It's my house. I'm home." The words fell flat, though, as I stared at the place that had become a marker for so many horrible things happening in my life. My parents, Bucky, everything. I looked down. 

The car stopped outside the house, in the makeshift driveway that I'd used all my life. The others got out of the car, but I stayed inside. "Why are we here?" I asked again, noticing that Wretton had remained in his seat as well. "What aren't you telling us?"

He shrugged, his lips set in an unreadable line. "See for yourself," he said, gesturing for me to get out.

Sam swore under his breath, his voice shaking. "Holy shit. Elda, come here. Come here, now!" He said, getting increasingly more excited. Or nervous. I couldn't tell.

When I got out of the car and walked around to the other side where Sam was, I half expected to see my parents by the way he was looking at me with wide and disbelieving eyes. He grasped my hand and squeezed it so hard I thought I might have felt a bone pop. "What are you...?" I asked, but my voice trailed off as I turned my head to face the front door of the place I used to call home. 

The door was hanging open, and in the doorway stood a ghost. A ghost whose dark hair fell over his eyes just the way I remembered, his eyes holding a story I had no knowledge of. A ghost whose memory had nearly been forgotten by me. 

I nearly threw up. " _Cade?_ "


	15. Ghosts, Warnings, and Plans

Sam held meup as my knees gave out, my body nearly dropping to the ground. My vision blurred and I was sure that I was going to pass out if it weren't for Sam's reassuring touch on my arms, keeping me in reality. If this really  _was_  reality. 

Steve swore under his breath. "Is that...?" He asked, his eyes not leaving mine.

I nodded, unable to speak. Finally, as I slid from Sam's arms to my knees on the ground, I was able to whisper hoarsely, "My brother.  _Cade_." My hands laid on my knees, palms up as I stared down at something that I knew was real, unlike the figure on the front steps that was darting towards me, their feet heavy and stomping on the ground. 

The damp mud sank into the knees of my jeans, and the cold sensation washed over my body, dragging me back into my head space. The grass grew exponentially, sliding up my arms and pulling me forward toward the earth, pressing my face into the ground. I whimpered as I squeezed my eyes shut, smelling the scent of sweet grass mixed with the sour taste of blood in my mouth. I lifted my head and saw him there, saw Bucky kneeling, forbidden from moving. 

I saw the strange woman behind him, her dark hair hiding her face from my view. She lifted the syringe with the bubbling orange liquid menacingly, and no noise that I made, no words or protests I screamed would stop her from bringing it down to his neck, pressing the needle into his flesh and inserting the fluid. 

I let out a wild scream, clawing at the air, trying to get near him, trying to save him from the fate I knew he would ultimately face. I crawled to him, scraping my hands on the rough ground, but something held me back, no matter how hard I kicked at it to let me go. I was  _so close_  to him, I could feel the fabric of his shirt under my fingertips, and I yanked on it hard enough to bring him closer to me—

"Elda! Elda, stop it!" A man's voice, the voice that slowly registered in my foggy brain:  _Sam._  The pressure on my back was gone, but it had migrate to my shoulders, where he was holding me. My eyelids fluttered, giving me a partial glance to his wide eyes staring at me as he yelled my name. 

I could hear him, and I could hear a voice in my head telling me to reach for it, to latch onto his voice and his face and pull myself out of whatever I was in, but I couldn't do it. I was so close to Bucky, I was so close to saving him and keeping him from the dangers that he would face in the hands of those people, in the clutches of that woman with the hidden face. 

With my face scrunched into a soundless cry, I reached one last time for Bucky's shirt, but when I grasped the fabric, it disintegrated under my touch and disappeared from my view as soon as I grabbed it. I choked on my sobs as I watched him fade, his eyes only just meeting mine before he was gone forever. 

A softer voice was caressing my ears, a gentle hand on my back to guide me back to a sitting position. "Elda," it whispered, the light lilts breaking my screams and calming me. "Elda, look up."

I obeyed the voice, looking up into the dull sky. The eyes that met me were kind, the woman's mouth turned down in a concentrated frown. "Elda," she said, and I watched her mouth as it formed my name around it. "Elda, it's me. You're okay. Take a deep breath."

My chest constricted, though, and when I tried to follow her directions again, I was stopped harshly. I choked on the air that didn't enter my lungs, gasping for oxygen. My chest rose and fell sporadically, my heartbeat thundering loudly. 

Somewhere far away, I heard a man's voice yell, "She's losing it! What do we do, aren't you supposed to know how to deal with this sort of thing?"

"Elda," the voice kept repeating, centering my thoughts. I squeezed my eyes shut again, and when I reopened them, I saw my hands, I saw the grass that was exactly the right length, and I saw the empty space in front of me. I saw the woman hovering over me. I saw her worried eyes, paired with a worried frown. "Elda," she breathed, her fingers ghosting over my face. "It's okay. You're here. You're real."

"I..." My mind couldn't come up with any words to say. "I'm real. I'm here. You're here." I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly. " _Cara_."

"Yes," she said with an excited smile, crouching near me. "It's Cara. I'm real. See, touch me. I'm here." She fed her fingers through mine, entangling our hands together. 

I stared at our joined hands, breathing shakily. After a few seconds of tightening my grip on her and seeing that she didn't fade away, I cautiously met her eyes, the rest of our traveling group surrounding me in a tight ring. Sam stared down at me in concern and guilt, but for what, I wasn't in the mood to figure out. Steve's glance was more intense than I'd seen in all the time since we'd gotten him from the CIA, his blue eyes clouded over with something like deja vu. 

 _I remind him of Bucky_ , I realized with a jolt.  _Or...I remind him of_ himself. 

Agent Wretton, the unexpected confidant, was standing there with his hands on his hips, but he worried the inside of his cheek with his teeth, biting nervously. He exhaled quickly when I looked up at him. 

And then there was the ghost. Standing between Cara and Wretton, his eyes a mix of wonder, concern, confusion, and a look of relief that can only be paired with lost love. The ghost was supposed to be my brother, but I didn't believe it. 

I scrambled back on my hands, scurrying away as fast as I could. My breath quickened, and I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to clear my mind. "Real, real, real, real," I chanted in an attempt to convince my mind. "Show me what's real."

Cara gripped my wrist and pulled me gently to my feet. "It's real," she hummed. "Let me show you." 

Even as she held my hand and led me to the ghost, I felt my feet dragging. With a certain sadness, the sane part of my mind(however small it felt) realized that I wasn't sure what was real or not. I had to have proof. If I could feel it, then I was seeing the real world. But if it was in my head, it would fade as soon as I reached for it. 

I blinked hard and several times, my brain refusing to wash my brother from the space in front of me. So I held out my hands and reached for him. He left his arms at his sides, but his eyes were so wide and so full of yearning for his younger sister that I nearly collapsed at the sight of him. 

When I was met with a hard wall of a person, the hard wall of  _my brother_ , I really did collapse, falling into his chest and clutching his leather jacket that hung on his strong shoulders. A noise of shock and contentment escaped my lips, muffled as I nestled my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of Cade Reid, the smell of the one person who'd always had my back, carrying me through the hard times far before I was ever able to walk on my own. I breathed in the scent of my brother, the unexplained miracle melting in my arms. 

He inhaled sharply, and in a fleeting memory, I recalled that Cade was not one prone to crying; that was always me. But as I felt his shoulders shudder with emotion, I smiled selfishly with the realization that he was letting loose the tears, all for the fact that I was back, that he was here, and that we had a little piece of our family that was sewn back together. 

"How in the flying fuck are you here?" I asked softly into his neck after my tears slowed. "We all thought you were—"

"I know," he mumbled into my hair, sliding his hand up and down my back as if trying to decide if I was real. We stepped back from each other and I let my lips curl into a teary smile, staring at the face that I'd thought I'd never see again. "I know," he repeated. "There's a lot to explain. But we should get you inside. It's safer to talk in there."

I was hesitant to let go of him, afraid that once I did he would disappear just like Bucky did, but I let my hands fall to my side. Cara didn't let me adjust to the cold of not having him there; she reached for my hand again and squeezed tightly. I smiled at her appreciatively. 

Sam was next to give Cade a tight hug, holding him just as long as I had, staring at him like he was an alien. "It's so good to see you," he breathed, "I can't believe you're here."

My brother clapped Sam on the shoulder. "You're just as devilishly handsome as always," he teased, though his words were filled with tears and lost their usual mischief. He pulled him close for one more hug. Then he looked to Wretton, who held out his hand. Wiping his tears with one hand, he held out the other to shake. "Agent Wretton," he greeted, his voice deepening into the authoritative growl I imagined he'd have.

"Nice to finally meet the CIA's most valuable asset," Wretton replied with a slight grin. "Consider me starstruck, kid."

Cade blushed. "I appreciate it," he admitted, holding up a hand, "but there's really no reason for the flattery." His head swiveled around and met me again. "Can we go inside now? There's a lot of shit to lay out on the table." He eyed Wretton. "Excuse my language, sir. Years with those radicals has loosened my tight vocabulary."

Wretton waved a dismissive hand and gestured for Cade to lead us into our house. I followed my brother into the house, staring at the back of his body. He still moved like himself, the same confidence oozing from his bones. But even as he smiled at me, eliciting the youthful grin I'd become to accustomed to as a kid, I felt the wear and tear of years away from home on his face. 

When everyone was inside, Cade looked once more to me. "I really think it's a good idea to rest, El," he said, even though his eyes told me that all he wanted to do was look at me and see that I was really here, much like I wanted to do to him. "We've got time."

Rest sounded near heavenly, but I couldn't rid the feeling in my gut that told me we were losing time. We were running out of time to find Bucky, and to save his soul before those bastards crushed that, too. 

So I shook my head. "I'll be fine, at least for a little while. I'm not going to slow everyone down just because I'm—"

 _Suffering from a very obvious case of PTSD,_ the reasonable voice in my head spoke, recognizing the signs from Sam when he came back from his deployment. 

Thankfully, I had a common goal with Wretton, as I noticed when he nodded. "She'll be fine," he reassured my brother, "I've seen her strength. It's remarkable."

Blushing, I took a seat at the kitchen table and folded my hands together. "See? I'm just fine. Now, stop making me feel like a teenager and let's get down to business."

* * *

 

Cade spent the next hour listening to our side of the story, having heard a fractured version from his superiors at the CIA. I helped tell my experience, but I chose to remain mostly silent, still refusing to take my eyes off of my brother who sat across from me, so close to reassure me that he was real, but just far enough that I doubted it still. 

"Okay," he blew out a breath, leaning back in his chair. "That's kind of...a lot." He peered at me with narrowed eyes. "You don't want Barnes—uh, Bucky, back for the same reasons as we do. I mean, the CIA." 

I felt a pang of hurt at my brother's association with the CIA. It was not lost on me that it was  _my_ idea to get him to join the Agency. And even though he was standing here in front of me, it still felt like it was my fault that he went missing, or faked his death, or whatever the fuck happened. Nevertheless, I shook my head. "No." My voice shook. "I love him, Cade."

My brother nodded. "That's pretty clear," he said with a small grin. He turned to Steve. "How do we know he's safe to bring back to the US without having to lock him up?"

Steve gave him a grim look. "We're not bringing him back to the US."

Cade and I both whirled with a sharp, " _What?_ "

The former national icon shrugged. "He's not safe in the US, maybe he never will be. But we need to use as many resources as we can to get him back in as best shape as possible." He peered at Cade. "That's why we need  _your_  help." For the first time, his voice gained back the strength that it had before all of this, the conviction in his words making me feel like I was listening to the Captain America that he'd once been. It sent a shiver down my spine. 

"That's why we're here," Wretton put in, holding up a hand that gestured to my brother. "That's why we came all this way to find Agent Reid. He's been collecting precious intel that will help us—well," he interrupted himself, "why don't you tell us that yourself?"

Cade nodded. "Like, I said, there's a lot to be laid out." 

Cara shrugged. "Then get to the point, and get to it quickly. We're running out of time."

 _Oh, how I loved the way she thought_. 


End file.
